University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


•. . 


' 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY   OF 
AN  EX-COLORED  MAN 


BOSTON 

SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &  COMPANY 
1912 


COPYRIGHT,  1912 
SHERMAN,  FRENCH  &>  COMPANY 


PREFACE 

This  vivid  and  startlingly  new  picture  of  con 
ditions  brought  about  by  the  race  question  in  the 
United  States  makes  no  special  plea  for  the  Ne 
gro,  but  shows  in  a  dispassionate,  though  sympa 
thetic,  manner  conditions  as  they  actually  exist 
between  the  whites  and  blacks  to-day.  Special 
pleas  have  already  been  made  for  and  against  the 
Negro  in  hundreds  of  books,  but  in  these  books 
either  his  virtues  or  his  vices  have  been  exag 
gerated.  This  is  because  writers,  in  nearly  every 
instance,  have  treated  the  colored  American  as  a 
whole;  each  has  taken  some  one  group  of  the  race 
to  prove  his  case.  Not  before  has  a  composite 
and  proportionate  presentation  of  the  entire  race, 
embracing  all  of  its  various  groups  and  elements, 
showing  their  relations  with  each  other  and  to  the 
whites,  been  made. 

It  is  very  likely  that  the  Negroes  of  the  United 
States  have  a  fairly  correct  idea  of  what  the  white 
people  of  the  country  think  of  them,  for  that 
opinion  has  for  a  long  time  been  and  is  still  being 
constantly  stated;  but  they  are  themselves  more 
or  less  a  sphinx  to  the  whites.  It  is  curiously  in 
teresting  and  even  vitally  important  to  know  what 


PREFACE 

are  the  thoughts  of  ten  millions  of  them  concern 
ing  the  people  among  whom  they  live.  In  these 
pages  it  is  as  though  a  veil  had  been  drawn  aside : 
the  reader  is  given  a  view  of  the  inner  life  of  the 
Negro  in  America,  is  initiated  into  the  "free 
masonry,"  as  it  were,  of  the  race. 

These  pages  also  reveal  the  unsuspected  fact 
that  prejudice  against  the  Negro  is  exerting  a 
pressure,  which,  in  New  York  and  other  large 
cities  where  the  opportunity  is  open,  is  actually 
and  constantly  forcing  an  unascertainable  number 
of  fair-complexioned  colored  people  over  into  the 
white  race. 

In  this  book  the  reader  is  given  a  glimpse  be 
hind  the  scenes  of  this  race-drama  which  is  being 
here  enacted, — he  is  taken  upon  an  elevation  where 
he  can  catch  a  bird's-eye  view  of  the  conflict  which 
is  being  waged. 

THE  PUBLISHERS. 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF  AN 
EX-COLORED  MAN 


CHAPTER   I 

I  know  that  in  writing  the  following  pages  I 
am  divulging  the  great  secret  of  my  life,  the  se 
cret  which  for  some  years  I  have  guarded  far 
more  carefully  than  any  of  my  earthly  posses 
sions ;  and  it  is  a  curious  study  to  me  to  analyze 
the  motives  which  prompt  me  to  do  it.  I  feel 
that  I  am  led  by  the  same  impulse  which  forces 
the  unfound-out  criminal  to  take  somebody  into 
his  confidence,  although  he  knows  that  the  act  is 
liable,  even  almost  certain,  to  lead  to  his  undoing. 
I  know  that  I  am  playing  with  fire,  and  I  feel  the 
thrill  which  accompanies  that  most  fascinating 
pastime ;  and,  back  of  it  all,  I  think  I  find  a  sort 
of  savage  and  diabolical  desire  to  gather  up  all 
the  little  tragedies  of  my  life,  and  turn  them  into 
a  practical  joke  on  society. 

And,  too,  I  suffer  a  vague  feeling  of  un- 
satisfaction,  of  regret,  of  almost  remorse  from 
which  I  am  seeking  relief,  and  of  which  I 
shall  speak  in  the  last  paragraph  of  this  ac 
count. 

I  was  born  in  a  little  town  of  Georgia  a  few 
years  after  the  close  of  the  Civil  War.  I  shall 
not  mention  the  name  of  the  town,  because  there 


2  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

are  people  still  living  there  who  could  be  con 
nected  with  this  narrative.  I  have  only  a  faint 
recollection  of  the  place  of  my  birth.  At  times 
I  can  close  my  eyes,  and  call  up  in  a  dream-like 
way  things  that  seem  to  have  happened  ages  ago 
in  some  other  world.  I  can  see  in  this  half  vision 
a  little  house, — I  am  quite  sure  it  was  not  a  large 
one ; — I  can  remember  that  flowers  grew  in  the 
front  yard,  and  that  around  each  bed  of  flowers 
was  a  hedge  of  vari-colored  glass  bottles  stuck 
in  the  ground  neck  down.  I  remember  that  once, 
while  playing  around  in  the  sand,  I  became  cu 
rious  to  know  whether  or  not  the  bottles  grew 
as  the  flowers  did,  and  I  proceeded  to  dig  them  up 
to  find  out ;  the  investigation  brought  me  a  ter 
rific  spanking  which  indelibly  fixed  the  incident  in 
my  mind.  I  can  remember,  too,  that  behind  the 
house  was  a  shed  under  which  stood  two  or  three 
wooden  wash-tubs.  These  tubs  were  the  earliest 
aversion  of  my  life,  for  regularly  on  certain  even 
ings  I  was  plunged  into  one  of  them,  and  scrubbed 
until  my  skin  ached.  I  can  remember  to  this  day 
the  pain  caused  by  the  strong,  rank  soap  getting 
into  my  eyes. 

Back  from  the  house  a  vegetable  garden  ran, 
perhaps,  seventy-five  or  one  hundred  feet;  but  to 
my  childish  fancy  it  was  an  endless  territory.  I 
can  still  recall  the  thrill  of  joy,  excitement  and 
wonder  it  gave  me  to  go  on  an  exploring  expe 
dition  through  it,  to  find  the  blackberries,  both 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  3 

ripe  and  green,  that  grew  along  the  edge  of  the 
fence. 

I  remember  with  what  pleasure  I  used  to  ar 
rive  at,  and  stand  before,  a  little  enclosure  in 
which  stood  a  patient  cow  chewing  her  cud,  how 
I  would  occasionally  offer  her  through  the 
bars  a  piece  of  my  bread  and  molasses,  and 
how  I  would  jerk  back  my  hand  in  half 
fright  if  she  made  any  motion  to  accept  my 
offer. 

I  have  a  dim  recollection  of  several  people  who 
moved  in  and  about  this  little  house,  but  I  have 
a  distinct  mental  image  of  only  two ;  one,  my 
mother,  and  the  other,  a  tall  man  with  a  small, 
dark  mustache.  I  remember  that  his  shoes  or 
boots  were  always  shiny,  and  that  he  wore  a  gold 
chain  and  a  great  gold  watch  with  which  he  was 
always  willing  to  let  me  play.  My  admiration 
was  almost  equally  divided  between  the  watch  and 
chain  and  the  shoes.  He  used  to  come  to  the 
house  evenings,  perhaps  two  or  three  times  a 
week;  and  it  became  my  appointed  duty  when 
ever  he  came  to  bring  him  a  pair  of  slippers,  and 
to  put  the  shiny  shoes  in  a  particular  corner;  he 
often  gave  me  in  return  for  this  service  a  bright 
coin  which  my  mother  taught  me  to  promptly 
drop  in  a  little  tin  bank.  I  remember  distinctly 
the  last  time  this  tall  man  came  to  the  little  house 
in  Georgia;  that  evening  before  I  went  to  bed  he 
took  me  up  in  his  arms,  and  squeezed  me  very 


4  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

tightly ;  my  mother  stood  behind  his  chair  wiping 
tears  from  her  eyes.  I  remember  how  I  sat  upon 
his  knee,  and  watched  him  laboriously  drill  a  hole 
through  a  ten-dollar  gold  piece,  and  then  tie  the 
coin  around  my  neck  with  a  string.  I  have  worn 
that  gold  piece  around  my  neck  the  greater  part 
of  my  life,  and  still  possess  it,  but  more  than  once 
I  have  wished  that  some  other  way  had  been  found 
of  attaching  it  to  me  besides  putting  a  hole 
through  it. 

On  the  day  after  the  coin  was  put  around  my 
neck  my  mother  and  I  started  on  what  seemed  to 
me  an  endless  journey.  I  knelt  on  the  seat  and 
watched  through  the  train  window  the  corn  and 
cotton  fields  pass  swiftly  by  until  I  fell  asleep. 
When  I  fully  awoke  we  were  being  driven  through 
the  streets  of  a  large  city — Savannah.  I  sat  up 
and  blinked  at  the  bright  lights.  At  Savannah 
we  boarded  a  steamer  which  finally  landed  us  in 
New  York.  From  New  York  we  went  to  a  town 
in  Connecticut,  which  became  the  home  of  my  boy 
hood. 

My  mother  and  I  lived  together  in  a  little  cot 
tage  which  seemed  to  me  to  be  fitted  up  almost 
luxuriously;  there  were  horse-hair  covered  chairs 
in  the  parlor,  and  a  little  square  piano;  there 
was  a  stairway  with  red  carpet  on  it  leading  to  a 
half  second  story;  there  were  pictures  on  the 
walls,  and  a  few  books  in  a  glass-doored  case. 
My  mother  dressed  me  very  neatly,  and  I  devel- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  5 

oped  that  pride  which  well-dressed  boys  gener 
ally  have.  She  was  careful  about  my  associates, 
and  I  myself  was  quite  particular.  As  I  look 
back  now  I  can  see  that  I  was  a  perfect  little 
aristocrat.  My  mother  rarely  went  to  anyone's 
house,  but  she  did  sewing,  and  there  were  a  great 
many  ladies  coming  to  our  cottage.  If  I  were 
around  they  would  generally  call  me,  and  ask  me 
my  name  and  age  and  tell  my  mother  what  a 
pretty  boy  I  was.  Some  of  them  would  pat  me 
on  the  head  and  kiss  me. 

My  mother  was  kept  very  busy  with  her  sew 
ing;  sometimes  she  would  have  another  woman 
helping  her.  I  think  she  must  have  derived  a  fair 
income  from  her  work.  I  know,  too,  that  at  least 
once  each  month  she  received  a  letter;  I  used  to 
watch  for  the  postman,  get  the  letter,  and  run  to 
her  with  it;  whether  she  was  busy  or  not  she 
would  take  it  and  instantly  thrust  it  into  her 
bosom.  I  never  saw  her  read  one  of  them.  I 
knew  later  that  these  letters  contained  money  and, 
what  was  to  her,  more  than  money.  As  busy  as 
she  generally  was  she,  however,  found  time  to 
teach  me  my  letters  and  figures  and  how  to  spell 
a  number  of  easy  words.  Always  on  Sunday 
evenings  she  opened  the  little  square  piano,  and 
picked  out  hymns.  I  can  recall  now  that  when 
ever  she  played  hymns  from  the  book  her  tempos 
were  always  decidedly  largo.  Sometimes  on  other 
evenings  when  she  was  not  sewing  she  would  play 


6  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

simple  accompaniments  to  some  old  southern  songs 
which  she  sang.  In  these  songs  she  was  freer, 
because  she  played  them  by  ear.  Those  even 
ings  on  which  she  opened  the  little  piano  were 
the  happiest  hours  of  my  childhood.  Whenever 
she  started  toward  the  instrument  I  used  to  fol 
low  her  with  all  the  interest  and  irrepressible  joy 
that  a  pampered  pet  dog  shows  when  a  package 
is  opened  in  which  he  knows  there  is  a  sweet  bit 
for  him.  I  used  to  stand  by  her  side,  and  often 
interrupt  and  annoy  her  by  chiming  in  with 
strange  harmonies  which  I  found  either  on  the 
high  keys  of  the  treble  or  low  keys  of  the  bass. 
I  remember  that  I  had  a  particular  fondness  for 
the  black  keys.  Always  on  such  evenings,  when 
the  music  was  over,  my  mother  would  sit  with  me 
in  her  arms  often  for  a  very  long  time.  She 
would  hold  me  close,  softly  crooning  some  old 
melody  without  words,  all  the  while  gently  strok 
ing  her  face  against  my  head;  many  and  many  a 
night  I  thus  fell  asleep.  I  can  see  her  now,  her 
great  dark  eyes  looking  into  the  fire,  to  where? 
No  one  knew  but  she.  The  memory  of  that  pic 
ture  has  more  than  once  kept  me  from  straying 
too  far  from  the  place  of  purity  and  safety  in 
which  her  arms  held  me. 

At  a  very  early  age  I  began  to  thump  on  the 
piano  alone,  and  it  was  not  long  before  I  was  able 
to  pick  out  a  few  tunes.  When  I  was  seven 
years  old  I  could  play  by  ear  all  of  the  hymns 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  7 

and  songs  that  my  mother  knew.  I  had  also 
learned  the  names  of  the  notes  in  both  clefs,  but 
I  preferred  not  to  be  hampered  by  notes.  About 
this  time  several  ladies  for  whom  my  mother 
sewed  heard  me  play,  and  they  persuaded  her 
that  I  should  at  once  be  put  under  a  teacher;  so 
arrangements  were  made  for  me  to  study  the 
piano  with  a  lady  who  was  a  fairly  good  musi 
cian  ;  at  the  same  time  arrangements  were  made 
for  me  to  study  my  books  with  this  lady's  daugh 
ter.  My  music  teacher  had  no  small  difficulty  at 
first  in  pinning  me  down  to  the  notes.  If  she 
played  my  lesson  over  for  me  I  invariably  at 
tempted  to  reproduce  the  required  sounds  with 
out  the  slightest  recourse  to  the  written  charac 
ters.  Her  daughter,  my  other  teacher,  also  had 
her  worries.  She  found  that,  in  reading,  when 
ever  I  came  to  words  that  were  difficult  or  unfa 
miliar  I  was  prone  to  bring  my  imagination  to 
the  rescue  and  read  from  the  picture.  She  has 
laughingly  told  me,  since  then,  that  I  would  some 
times  substitute  whole  sentences  and  even  para 
graphs  from  what  meaning  I  thought  the  illus 
trations  conveyed.  She  said  she  sometimes  was 
not  only  amused  at  the  fresh  treatment  I  would 
give  an  author's  subject,  but  that  when  I  gave 
some  new  and  sudden  turn  to  the  plot  of  the  story 
she  often  grew  interested  and  even  excited  in  lis 
tening  to  hear  what  kind  of  a  denouement  I  would 
bring  about.  But  I  am  sure  this  was  not  due  to 


8  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

dullness,  for  I  made  rapid  progress  in  both  my 
music  and  my  books. 

And  so,  for  a  couple  of  years  my  life  was  di 
vided  between  my  music  and  my  school  books. 
Music  took  up  the  greater  part  of  my  time.  I 
had  no  playmates,  but  amused  myself  with  games 
— some  of  them  my  own  invention — which  could 
be  played  alone.  I  knew  a  few  boys  whom  I  had 
met  at  the  church  which  I  attended  with  my 
mother,  but  I  had  formed  no  close  friendships  with 
any  of  them.  Then,  when  I  was  nine  years  old, 
my  mother  decided  to  enter  me  in  the  public 
school,  so  all  at  once  I  found  myself  thrown  among 
a  crowd  of  boys  of  all  sizes  and  kinds ;  some  of 
them  seemed  to  me  like  savages.  I  shall  never 
forget  the  bewilderment,  the  pain,  the  heart-sick 
ness  of  that  first  day  at  school.  I  seemed  to  be 
the  only  stranger  in  the  place ;  every  other  boy 
seemed  to  know  every  other  boy.  I  was  fortu 
nate  enough,  however,  to  be  assigned  to  a  teacher 
who  knew  me ;  my  mother  made  her  dresses.  She 
was  one  of  the  ladies  who  used  to  pat  me  on  the 
head  and  kiss  me.  She  had  the  tact  to  address 
a  few  words  directly  to  me ;  this  gave  me  a  cer 
tain  sort  of  standing  in  the  class,  and  put  me 
somewhat  at  ease. 

Within  a  few  days  I  had  made  one  staunch 
friend,  and  was  on  fairly  good  terms  with  most 
of  the  boys.  I  was  shy  of  the  girls,  and  remained 
so;  even  now,  a  word  or  look  from  a  pretty 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  9 

woman  sets  me  all  a-tremble.  This  friend  I  bound 
to  me  with  hooks  of  steel  in  a  very  simple  way. 
He  was  a  big  awkward  boy  with  a  face  full  of 
freckles  and  a  head  full  of  very  red  hair.  He 
was  perhaps  fourteen  years  of  age ;  that  is,  four 
or  five  years  older  than  any  other  boy  in  the  class. 
This  seniority  was  due  to  the  fact  that  he  had 
spent  twice  the  required  amount  of  time  in  sev 
eral  of  the  preceding  classes.  I  had  not  been  at 
school  many  hours  before  I  felt  that  "Red  Head" 
— as  I  involuntarily  called  him — and  I  were  to  be 
friends.  I  do  not  doubt  that  this  feeling  was 
strengthened  by  the  fact  that  I  had  been  quick 
enough  to  see  that  a  big,  strong  boy  was  a  friend 
to  be  desired  at  a  public  school;  and,  perhaps,  in 
spite  of  his  dullness,  "Red  Head"  had  been  able 
to  discern  that  I  could  be  of  service  to  him.  At 
any  rate  there  was  a  simultaneous  mutual  attrac 
tion. 

The  teacher  had  strung  the  class  promiscu 
ously  round  the  walls  of  the  room  for  a  sort  of 
trial  heat  for  places  of  rank;  when  the  line  was 
straightened  out  I  found  that  by  skillful  maneu 
vering  I  had  placed  myself  third,  and  had  piloted 
"Red  Head"  to  the  place  next  to  me.  The 
teacher  began  by  giving  us  to  spell  the  words 
corresponding  to  our  order  in  the  line.  "Spell 
first."  "Spell  second."  "Spell  third."  I  rat 
tled  off,  "t-h-i-r-d,  third,"  in  a  way  which  said, 
"Why  don't  you  give  us  something  hard?"  As 


10  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

the  words  went  down  the  line  I  could  see  how 
lucky  I  had  been  to  get  a  good  place  together 
with  an  easy  word.  As  young  as  I  was  I  felt  im 
pressed  with  the  unfairness  of  the  whole  proceed 
ing  when  I  saw  the  tailenders  going  down  be 
fore  "twelfth"  and  "twentieth,"  and  I  felt  sorry 
for  those  who  had  to  spell  such  words  in  order 
to  hold  a  low  position.  "Spell  fourth."  "Red 
Head,"  with  his  hands  clutched  tightly  behind 
his  back,  began  bravely,  "f-o-r-t-h."  Like  a  flash 
a  score  of  hands  went  up,  and  the  teacher  began 
saying,  "No  snapping  of  fingers,  no  snapping  of 
fingers."  This  was  the  first  word  missed,  and  it 
seemed  to  me  that  some  of  the  scholars  were 
about  to  lose  their  senses ;  some  were  dancing  up 
and  down  on  one  foot  with  a  hand  above 
their  heads,  the  fingers  working  furiously, 
and  joy  beaming  all  over  their  faces ;  others 
stood  still,  their  hands  raised  not  so  high, 
their  fingers  working  less  rapidly,  and  their 
faces  expressing  not  quite  so  much  hap 
piness  ;  there  were  still  others  who  did  not  move 
nor  raise  their  hands,  but  stood  with  great 
wrinkles  on  their  foreheads,  looking  very  thought 
ful. 

The  whole  thing  was  new  to  me,  and  I  did  not 
raise  my  hand,  but  slyly  whispered  the  letter  "u" 
to  "Red  Head"  several  times.  "Second  chance," 
said  the  teacher.  The  hands  went  down  and  the 
class  became  quiet.  "Red  Head,"  his  face  now 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  11 

red,  after  looking  beseechingly  at  the  ceiling,  then 
pitiably  at  the  floor,  began  very  haltingly, 
"f-u-."  Immediately  an  impulse  to  raise  hands 
went  through  the  class,  but  the  teacher  checked 
it,  and  poor  "Red  Head,"  though  he  knew  that 
each  letter  he  added  only  took  him  farther  out  of 
the  way,  went  doggedly  on  and  finished,  "r-t-h." 
The  hand  raising  was  now  repeated  with  more 
hubbub  and  excitement  than  at  first.  Those  who 
before  had  not  moved  a  finger  were  now  waving 
their  hands  above  their  heads.  "Red  Head"  felt 
that  he  was  lost.  He  looked  very  big  and  foolish, 
and  some  of  the  scholars  began  to  snicker.  His 
helpless  condition  went  straight  to  my  heart,  and 
gripped  my  sympathies.  I  felt  that  if  he  failed 
it  would  in  some  way  be  my  failure.  I  raised 
my  hand,  and  under  cover  of  the  excitement  and 
the  teacher's  attempts  to  regain  order,  I  hur 
riedly  shot  up  into  his  ear  twice,  quite  distinctly, 
"f-o-u-r-t-h,"  "f-o-u-r-t-h."  The  teacher  tapped 
on  her  desk  and  said,  "Third  and  last  chance." 
The  hands  came  down,  the  silence  became  oppres 
sive.  "Red  Head"  began,  "f" —  Since  that  day 
I  have  waited  anxiously  for  many  a  turn  of  the 
wheel  of  fortune,  but  never  under  greater  ten 
sion  than  I  watched  for  the  order  in  which  those 
letters  would  fall  from  "Red's"  lips— "o-u-r-t-h." 
A  sigh  of  relief  and  disappointment  went  up 
from  the  class.  Afterwards,  through  all  our 
school  days,  "Red  Head"  shared  my  wit  and 


12  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

quickness  and  I  benefited  by  his  strength  and  dog 
ged  faithfulness. 

There  were  some  black  and  brown  boys  and 
girls  in  the  school,  and  several  of  them  were  in 
my  class.  One  of  the  boys  strongly  attracted  my 
attention  from  the  first  day  I  saw  him.  His  face 
was  as  black  as  night,  but  shone  as  though  it  was 
polished;  he  had  sparkling  eyes,  and  when  he 
opened  his  mouth  he  displayed  glistening  white 
teeth.  It  struck  me  at  once  as  appropriate  to 
call  him  "Shiny  face,"  or  "Shiny  eyes,"  or  "Shiny 
teeth,"  and  I  spoke  of  him  often  by  one  of  these 
names  to  the  other  boys.  These  terms  were  finally 
merged  into  "Shiny,"  and  to  that  name  he  an 
swered  good  naturedly  during  the  balance  of  his 
public  school  days. 

"Shiny"  was  considered  without  question  to  be 
the  best  speller,  the  best  reader,  the  best  penman, 
in  a  word,  the  best  scholar,  in  the  class.  He  was 
very  quick  to  catch  anything;  but,  nevertheless, 
studied  hard;  thus  he  possessed  two  powers  very 
rarely  combined  in  one  boy.  I  saw  him  year  after 
year,  on  up  into  the  high  school,  win  the  major 
ity  of  the  prizes  for  punctuality,  deportment,  es 
say  writing  and  declamation.  Yet  it  did  not  take 
me  long  to  discover  that,  in  spite  of  his  standing 
as  a  scholar,  he  was  in  some  way  looked  down 
upon. 

The  other  black  boys  and  girls  were  still  more 
looked  down  upon.  Some  of  the  boys  often  spoke 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  13 

of  them  as  "niggers."  Sometimes  on  the  way 
home  from  school  a  crowd  would  walk  behind  them 
repeating : 

"Nigger,  nigger,  never   die, 
Black  face  and  shiny  eye." 

On  one  such  afternoon  one  of  the  black  boys 
turned  suddenly  on  his  tormentors,  and  hurled  a 
slate ;  it  struck  one  of  the  white  boys  in  the  mouth, 
cutting  a  slight  gash  in  his  lip.  At  sight  of  the 
blood  the  boy  who  had  thrown  the  slate  ran,  and 
his  companions  quickly  followed.  We  ran  after 
them  pelting  them  with  stones  until  they  sepa 
rated  in  several  directions.  I  was  very  much 
wrought  up  over  the  affair,  and  went  home  and 
told  my  mother  how  one  of  the  "niggers"  had 
struck  a  boy  with  a  slate.  I  shall  never  forget 
how  she  turned  on  me.  "Don't  you  ever  use  that 
word  again,"  she  said,  "and  don't  you  ever  bother 
the  colored  children  at  school.  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself. "  I  did  hang  my  head  in 
shame,  but  not  because  she  had  convinced  me 
that  I  had  done  wrong,  but  because  I  was  hurt 
by  the  first  sharp  word  she  had  ever  given 
me. 

My  school  days  ran  along  very  pleasantly.  I 
stood  well  in  my  studies,  not  always  so  well  with 
regard  to  my  behavior.  I  was  never  guilty  of  any 
serious  misconduct,  but  my  love  of  fun  sometimes 
got  me  into  trouble.  I  remember,  however,  that 


14  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

my  sense  of  humor  was  so  sly  that  most  of  the 
trouble  usually  fell  on  the  head  of  the  other  fel 
low.  My  ability  to  play  on  the  piano  at  school 
exercises  was  looked  upon  as  little  short  of  mar 
velous  in  a  boy  of  my  age.  I  was  not  chummy 
with  many  of  my  mates,  but,  on  the  whole,  was 
about  as  popular  as  it  is  good  for  a  boy  to  be. 

One  day  near  the  end  of  my  second  term  at 
school  the  principal  came  into  our  room,  and  after 
talking  to  the  teacher,  for  some  reason  said,  "I 
wish  all  of  the  white  scholars  to  stand  for  a  mo 
ment."  I  rose  with  the  others.  The  teacher 
looked  at  me,  and  calling  my  name  said,  "You  sit 
down  for  the  present,  and  rise  with  the  others." 
I  did  not  quite  understand  her,  and  questioned, 
"Ma'm?"  She  repeated  with  a  softer  tone  in  her 
voice,  "You  sit  down  now,  and  rise  with  the 
others."  I  sat  down  dazed.  I  saw  and  heard 
nothing.  When  the  others  were  asked  to  rise  I 
did  not  know  it.  When  school  was  dismissed  I 
went  out  in  a  kind  of  stupor.  A  few  of  the  white 
boys  jeered  me,  saying,  "Oh,  you're  a  nigger  too." 
I  heard  some  black  children  say,  "We  knew  he  was 
colored."  "Shiny"  said  to  them,  "Come  along, 
don't  tease  him,"  and  thereby  won  my  undying 
gratitude. 

I  hurried  on  as  fast  as  I  could,  and  had  gone 
some  distance  before  I  perceived  that  "Red  Head" 
was  walking  by  my  side.  After  a  while  he  said 
to  me,  "Le'  me  carry  your  books."  I  gave  him 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  15 

my  strap  without  being  able  to  answer.  When 
we  got  to  my  gate  he  said  as  he  handed  me  my 
books,  "Say,  you  know  my  big  red  agate?  I 
can't  shoot  with  it  any  more.  I'm  going  to  bring 
it  to  school  for  you  to-morrow."  I  took  my  books 
and  ran  into  the  house.  As  I  passed  through  the 
hallway  I  saw  that  my  mother  was  busy  with  one 
of  her  customers;  I  rushed  up  into  my  own  little 
room,  shut  the  door,  and  went  quickly  to  where 
my  looking-glass  hung  on  the  wall.  For  an  in 
stant  I  was  afraid  to  look,  but  when  I  did  I  looked 
long  and  earnestly.  I  had  often  heard  people 
say  to  my  mother,  "What  a  pretty  boy  you 
have."  I  was  accustomed  to  hear  remarks  about 
my  beauty ;  but,  now,  for  the  first  time,  I  became 
conscious  of  it,  and  recognized  it.  I  noticed  the 
ivory  whiteness  of  my  skin,  the  beauty  of  my 
mouth,  the  size  and  liquid  darkness  of  my  eyes, 
and  how  the  long  black  lashes  that  fringed  and 
shaded  them  produced  an  effect  that  was  strangely 
fascinating  even  to  me.  I  noticed  the  softness 
and  glossiness  of  my  dark  hair  that  fell  in  waves 
over  my  temples,  making  my  forehead  appear 
whiter  than  it  really  was.  How  long  I  stood 
there  gazing  at  my  image  I  do  not  know.  When 
I  came  out  and  reached  the  head  of  the  stairs,  I 
heard  the  lady  who  had  been  with  my  mother  go 
ing  out.  I  ran  downstairs,  and  rushed  to  where 
my  mother  was  sitting  with  a  piece  of  work  in 
her  hands.  I  buried  my  head  in  her  lap  and 


16  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

blurted  out,  "Mother,  mother,  tell  me,  am  I  a  nig 
ger?"  I  could  not  see  her  face,  but  I  knew  the 
piece  of  work  dropped  to  the  floor,  and  I  felt  her 
hands  on  my  head.  I  looked  up  into  her  face 
and  repeated,  "Tell  me,  mother,  am  I  a  nigger?" 
There  were  tears  in  her  eyes,  and  I  could  see  that 
she  was  suffering  for  me.  And  then  it  was  that 
I  looked  at  her  critically  for  the  first  time.  I  had 
thought  of  her  in  a  childish  way  only  as  the  most 
beautiful  woman  in  the  world;  now  I  looked  at 
her  searching  for  defects.  I  could  see  that  her 
skin  was  almost  brown,  that  her  hair  was  not  so 
soft  as  mine,  and  that  she  did  differ  in  some  way 
from  the  other  ladies  who  came  to  the  house ;  yet, 
even  so,  I  could  see  that  she  was  very  beautiful, 
more  beautiful  than  any  of  them.  She  must  have 
felt  that  I  was  examining  her,  for  she  hid  her  face 
in  my  hair,  and  said  with  difficulty,  "No,  my 
darling,  you  are  not  a  nigger."  She  went  on, 
"You  are  as  good  as  anybody;  if  anyone  calls 
you  a  nigger  don't  notice  them."  But  the  more 
she  talked  the  less  was  I  reassured,  and  I  stopped 
her  by  asking,  "Well,  mother,  am  I  white  ?  Are 
you  white?"  She  answered  tremblingly,  "No,  I 
am  not  white,  but  you — your  father  is  one  of  the 
greatest  men  in  the  country — the  best  blood  of 
the  South  is  in  you — "  This  suddenly  opened 
up  in  my  heart  a  fresh  chasm  of  misgiving  and 
fear,  and  I  almost  fiercely  demanded,  "Who  is  my 
father?  Where  is  he?"  She  stroked  my  hair 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  17 

and  said,  "I'll  tell  you  about  him  some  day." 
I  sobbed,  "I  want  to  know  now."  She  answered, 
"No,  not  now." 

Perhaps  it  had  to  be  done,  but  I  have  never 
forgiven  the  woman  who  did  it  so  cruelly.  It 
may  be  that  she  never  knew  that  she  gave  me  a 
sword-thrust  that  day  in  school  which  was  years 
in  healing. 


CHAPTER   II 

Since  I  have  grown  older  I  have  often  gone 
back  and  tried  to  analyze  the  change  that  came 
into  my  life  after  that  fateful  day  in  school. 
There  did  come  a  radical  change,  and,  young  as 
I  was,  I  felt  fully  conscious  of  it,  though  I  did 
not  fully  comprehend  it.  Like  my  first  spanking, 
it  is  one  of  the  few  incidents  in  my  life  that  I  can 
remember  clearly.  In  the  life  of  every  one  there 
is  a  limited  number  of  unhappy  experiences  which 
are  not  written  upon  the  memory,  but  stamped 
there  with  a  die ;  and  in  long  years  after  they  can 
be  called  up  in  detail,  and  every  emotion  that  was 
stirred  by  them  can  be  lived  through  anew ;  these 
are  the  tragedies  of  life.  We  may  grow  to  in 
clude  some  of  them  among  the  trivial  incidents  of 
childhood — a  broken  toy,  a  promise  made  to  us 
which  was  not  kept,  a  harsh,  heart-piercing  word 
— but  these,  too,  as  well  as  the  bitter  experiences 
and  disappointments  of  mature  years,  are  the 
tragedies  of  life. 

And  so  I  have  often  lived  through  that  hour, 
that  day,  that  week  in  which  was  wrought  the 
miracle  of  my  transition  from  one  world  into  an 
other;  for  I  did  indeed  pass  into  another  world. 

18 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  19 

From  that  time  I  looked  out  through  other  eyes, 
my  thoughts  were  colored,  my  words  dictated,  my 
actions  limited  by  one  dominating,  all-pervading 
idea  which  constantly  increased  in  force  and 
weight  until  I  finally  realized  in  it  a  great,  tan 
gible  fact. 

And  this  is  the  dwarfing,  warping,  distorting 
influence  which  operates  upon  each  colored  man 
in  the  United  States.  He  is  forced  to  take  his 
outlook  on  all  things,  not  from  the  viewpoint  of 
a  citizen,  or  a  man,  nor  even  a  human  being,  but 
from  the  viewpoint  of  a  colored  man.  It  is  won 
derful  to  me  that  the  race  has  progressed  so 
broadly  as  it  has,  since  most  of  its  thought  and 
all  of  its  activity  must  run  through  the  narrow 
neck  of  one  funnel. 

And  it  is  this,  too,  which  makes  the  colored  peo 
ple  of  this  country,  in  reality,  a  mystery  to  the 
whites.  It  is  a  difficult  thing  for  a  white  man  to 
learn  what  a  colored  man  really  thinks;  because, 
generally,  with  the  latter  an  additional  and  differ 
ent  light  must  be  brought  to  bear  on  what  he 
thinks ;  and  his  thoughts  are  often  influenced  by 
considerations  so  delicate  and  subtle  that  it  would 
be  impossible  for  him  to  confess  or  explain  them 
to  one  of  the  opposite  race.  This  gives  to  every 
colored  man,  in  proportion  to  his  intellectuality, 
a  sort  of  dual  personality;  there  is  one  phase  of 
him  which  is  disclosed  only  in  the  freemasonry  of 
his  own  race.  I  have  often  watched  with  interest 


20  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

and  sometimes  with  amazement  even  ignorant  col 
ored  men  under  cover  of  broad  grins  and  minstrel 
antics  maintain  this  dualism  in  the  presence  of 
white  men. 

I  believe  it  to  be  a  fact  that  the  colored  people 
of  this  country  know  and  understand  the  white 
people  better  than  the  white  people  know  and  un 
derstand  them. 

I  now  think  that  this  change  which  came  into 
my  life  was  at  first  more  subjective  than  objective. 
I  do  not  think  my  friends  at  school  changed  so 
much  toward  me  as  I  did  toward  them.  I  grew 
reserved,  I  might  say  suspicious.  I  grew  con 
stantly  more  and  more  afraid  of  laying  myself 
open  to  some  injury  to  my  feelings  or  my  pride. 
I  frequently  saw  or  fancied  some  slight  where,  I 
am  sure,  none  was  intended.  On  the  other  hand, 
my  friends  and  teachers  were,  if  anything  differ 
ent,  more  considerate  of  me;  but  I  can  remember 
that  it  was  against  this  very  attitude  in  particu 
lar  that  my  sensitiveness  revolted.  "Red"  was 
the  only  one  who  did  not  so  wound  me ;  up  to  this 
day  I  recall  with  a  swelling  heart  his  clumsy  ef 
forts  to  make  me  understand  that  nothing  could 
change  his  love  for  me. 

I  am  sure  that  at  this  time  the  majority  of  my 
white  schoolmates  did  not  understand  or  appre 
ciate  any  differences  between  me  and  themselves ; 
but  there  were  a  few  who  had  evidently  received  in 
structions  at  home  on  the  matter,  and  more  than 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  £1 

once  they  displayed  their  knowledge  in  word  and 
action.  As  the  years  passed  I  noticed  that  the 
most  innocent  and  ignorant  among  the  others 
grew  in  wisdom. 

I,  myself,  would  not  have  so  clearly  understood 
this  difference  had  it  not  been  for  the  presence 
of  the  other  colored  children  at  school;  I  had 
learned  what  their  status  was,  and  now  I  learned 
that  theirs  was  mine.  I  had  had  no  particular 
like  or  dislike  for  these  black  and  brown  boys  and 
girls ;  in  fact,  with  the  exception  of  "Shiny,"  they 
had  occupied  very  little  of  my  thought,  but  I  do 
know  that  when  the  blow  fell  I  had  a  very  strong 
aversion  to  being  classed  with  them.  So  I  be 
came  something  of  a  solitary.  "Red"  and  I  re 
mained  inseparable,  and  there  was  between 
"Shiny"  and  me  a  sort  of  sympathetic  bond,  but 
my  intercourse  with  the  others  was  never  entirely 
free  from  a  feeling  of  constraint.  But  I  must 
add  that  this  feeling  was  confined  almost  entirely 
to  my  intercourse  with  boys  and  girls  of  about 
my  own  age;  I  did  not  experience  it  with  my  sen 
iors.  And  when  I  grew  to  manhood  I  found  my 
self  freer  with  elderly  white  people  than  with 
those  near  my  own  age. 

I  was  now  about  eleven  years  old,  but  these 
emotions  and  impressions  which  I  have  just  de 
scribed  could  not  have  been  stronger  or  more  dis 
tinct  at  an  older  age.  There  were  two  immediate 
results  of  my  forced  loneliness ;  I  began  to  find 


22  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

company  in  books,  and  greater  pleasure  in  music. 
I  made  the  former  discovery  through  a  big,  gilt- 
bound,  illustrated  copy  of  the  Bible,  which  used 
to  lie  in  splendid  neglect  on  the  center  table  in 
our  little  parlor.  On  top  of  the  Bible  lay  a  pho 
tograph  album.  I  had  often  looked  at  the  pic 
tures  in  the  album,  and  one  day  after  taking  the 
larger  book  down,  and  opening  it  on  the  floor,  I 
was  overjoyed  to  find  that  it  contained  what 
seemed  to  be  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  pictures. 
I  looked  at  these  pictures  many  times;  in  fact, 
so  often  that  I  knew  the  story  of  each  one  with 
out  having  to  read  the  subject,  and  then,  some 
how,  I  picked  up  the  thread  of  history  on  which 
is  strung  the  trials  and  tribulations  of  the  He 
brew  children;  this  I  followed  with  feverish  in 
terest  and  excitement.  For  a  long  time  King 
David,  with  Samson  a  close  second,  stood  at  the 
head  of  my  list  of  heroes ;  he  was  not  displaced 
until  I  came  to  know  Robert  the  Bruce.  I  read 
a  good  portion  of  the  Old  Testament,  all  that  part 
treating  of  wars  and  rumors  of  wars,  and  then 
started  in  on  the  New.  I  became  interested  in  the 
life  of  Christ,  but  became  impatient  and  disap 
pointed  when  I  found  that,  notwithstanding  the 
great  power  he  possessed,  he  did  not  make  use  of 
it  when,  in  my  judgment,  he  most  needed  to  do  so. 
And  so  my  first  general  impression  of  the 
Bible  was  what  my  later  impression  has  been 
of  a  number  of  modern  books,  that  the  au- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  23 

thors  put  their  best  work  in  the  first  part,  and 
grew  either  exhausted  or  careless  toward  the 
end. 

After  reading  the  Bible,  or  those  parts  which 
held  my  attention,  I  began  to  explore  the  glass- 
doored  book-case  which  I  have  already  men 
tioned.  I  found  there  "Pilgrim's  Progress," 
"Peter  Parley's  History  of  the  United  States," 
Grimm's  "Household  Stories,"  "Tales  of  a  Grand 
father,"  a  bound  volume  of  an  old  English  publi 
cation,  I  think  it  was  called  "The  Mirror,"  a  lit 
tle  volume  called  "Familiar  Science,"  and  some 
body's  "Natural  Theology,"  which  latter,  of 
course,  I  could  not  read,  but  which,  nevertheless, 
I  tackled,  with  the  result  of  gaining  a  permanent 
dislike  for  all  kinds  of  theology.  There  were 
several  other  books  of  no  particular  name  or 
merit,  such  as  agents  sell  to  people  who  know 
nothing  of  buying  books.  How  my  mother  came 
by  this  little  library  which,  considering  all  things, 
was  so  well  suited  to  me,  I  never  sought  to  know. 
But  she  was  far  from  being  an  ignorant  woman, 
and  had  herself,  very  likely,  read  the  majority  of 
these  books,  though  I  do  not  remember  ever  hav 
ing  seen  her  with  a  book  in  her  hand,  with  the 
exception  of  the  Episcopal  Prayer-book.  At  any 
rate  she  encouraged  in  me  the  habit  of  reading, 
and  when  I  had  about  exhausted  those  books  in 
the  little  library  which  interested  me,  she  began 
to  buy  books  for  me.  She  also  regularly  gave 


24  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

me  money  to  buy  a  weekly  paper  which  was  then 
very  popular  for  boys. 

At  this  time  I  went  in  for  music  with  an  ear 
nestness  worthy  of  maturer  years;  a  change  of 
teachers  was  largely  responsible  for  this.  I  be 
gan  now  to  take  lessons  of  the  organist  of  the 
church  which  I  attended  with  my  mother;  he  was 
a  good  teacher  and  quite  a  thorough  musician. 
He  was  so  skillful  in  his  instruction,  and  filled  me 
with  such  enthusiasm  that  my  progress — these 
are  his  words — was  marvelous.  I  remember  that 
when  I  was  barely  twelve  years  old  I  appeared  on 
a  program  with  a  number  of  adults  at  an  enter 
tainment  given  for  some  charitable  purpose,  and 
carried  off  the  honors.  I  did  more,  I  brought 
upon  myself  through  the  local  newspapers  the 
handicapping  title  of  "Infant  prodigy." 

I  can  believe  that  I  did  astonish  my  audience, 
for  I  never  played  the  piano  like  a  child,  that  is, 
in  the  "one-two-three"  style  with  accelerated  mo 
tion.  Neither  did  I  depend  upon  mere  brilliancy 
of  technic,  a  trick  by  which  children  often  sur 
prise  their  listeners,  but  I  always  tried  to  inter 
pret  a  piece  of  music ;  I  always  played  with  feel 
ing.  Very  early  I  acquired  that  knack  of  using 
the  pedals  which  makes  the  piano  a  sympathetic, 
singing  instrument;  quite  a  different  thing  from 
the  source  of  hard  or  blurred  sounds  it  so  gen 
erally  is.  I  think  this  was  due  not  entirely  to 
natural  artistic  temperament,  but  largely  to  the 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  25 

fact  that  I  did  not  begin  to  learn  the  piano  by 
counting1  out  exercises,  but  by  trying  to  repro 
duce  the  quaint  songs  which  my  mother  used 
to  sing,  with  all  their  pathetic  turns  and  ca 
dences. 

Even  at  a  tender  age,  in  playing,  I  helped  to 
express  what  I  felt  by  some  of  the  mannerisms 
which  I  afterwards  observed  in  great  performers ; 
I  had  not  copied  them.  I  have  often  heard  peo 
ple  speak  of  the  mannerisms  of  musicians  as  afj 
fectations  adopted  for  mere  effect;  in  some  cases 
this  may  be  so;  but  a  true  artist  can  no  more 
play  upon  the  piano  or  violin  without  putting  his 
whole  body  in  accord  with  the  emotions  he  is  striv 
ing  to  express  than  a  swallow  can  fly  without  be 
ing  graceful.  Often  when  playing  I  could  not 
keep  the  tears  which  formed  in  my  eyes  from  roll 
ing  down  my  cheeks.  Sometimes  at  the  end  or 
even  in  the  midst  of  a  composition,  as  big  a  boy 
as  I  was,  I  would  jump  from  the  piano,  and 
throw  myself  sobbing  into  my  mother's  arms. 
She,  by  her  caresses  and  often  her  tears,  only  en 
couraged  these  fits  of  sentimental  hysteria.  Of 
course,  to  counteract  this  tendency  to  tempera 
mental  excesses  I  should  have  been  out  playing 
ball  or  in  swimming  with  other  boys  of  my  age; 
but  my  mother  didn't  know  that.  There  was 
only  once  when  she  was  really  firm  with  me,  mak 
ing  me  do  what  she  considered  was  best;  I  did 
not  want  to  return  to  school  after  the  unpleasant 


26  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

episode  which  I  have  related,  and  she  was  inflex 
ible. 

I  began  my  third  term,  and  the  days  ran  along 
as  I  have  already  indicated.  I  had  been  pro 
moted  twice,  and  had  managed  each  time  to  pull 
"Red"  along  with  me.  I  think  the  teachers  came 
to  consider  me  the  only  hope  of  his  ever  getting 
through  school,  and  I  believe  they  secretly  con 
spired  with  me  to  bring  about  the  desired  end. 
At  any  rate,  I  know  it  became  easier  in  each  suc 
ceeding  examination  for  me  not  only  to  assist 
"Red,"  but  absolutely  to  do  his  work.  It  is 
strange  how  in  some  things  honest  people  can  be 
dishonest  without  the  slightest  compunction.  I 
knew  boys  at  school  who  were  too  honorable  to 
tell  a  fib  even  when  one  would  have  been  just  the 
right  thing,  but  could  not  resist  the  temptation 
to  assist  or  receive  assistance  in  an  examination. 
I  have  long  considered  it  the  highest  proof  of 
honesty  in  a  man  to  hand  his  street-car  fare  to 
the  conductor  who  had  overlooked  it. 

One  afternoon  after  school,  during  my  third 
term,  I  rushed  home  in  a  great  hurry  to  get  my 
dinner,  and  go  to  my  music  teacher's.  I  was 
never  reluctant  about  going  there,  but  on  this 
particular  afternoon  I  was  impetuous.  The  rea 
son  of  this  was,  I  had  been  asked  to  play  the  ac 
companiment  for  a  young  lady  who  was  to  play 
a  violin  solo  at  a  concert  given  by  the  young  peo 
ple  of  the  church,  and  on  this  afternoon  we  were 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  27 

to  have  our  first  rehearsal.  At  that  time  play 
ing  accompaniments  was  the  only  thing  in  music 
I  did  not  enjoy;  later  this  feeling  grew  into  pos 
itive  dislike.  I  have  never  been  a  really  good 
accompanist  because  my  ideas  of  interpretation 
were  always  too  strongly  individual.  I  constantly 
forced  my  accelerandos  and  rubatos  upon  the  so 
loist,  often  throwing  the  duet  entirely  out  of  gear. 
Perhaps  the  reader  has  already  guessed  why  I 
was  so  willing  and  anxious  to  play  the  accompani 
ment  to  this  violin  solo ;  if  not, — the  violinist  was 
a  girl  of  seventeen  or  eighteen  whom  I  had  first 
heard  play  a  short  time  before  on  a  Sunday  after 
noon  at  a  special  service  of  some  kind,  and  who 
had  moved  me  to  a  degree  which  now  I  can  hardly 
think  of  as  possible.  At  present  I  do  not  think  it 
was  due  to  her  wonderful  playing,  though  I  judge 
she  must  have  been  a  very  fair  performer,  but  there 
was  just  the  proper  setting  to  produce  the  effect 
upon  a  boy  such  as  I  was ;  the  half  dim  church, 
the  air  of  devotion  on  the  part  of  the  listeners, 
the  heaving  tremor  of  the  organ  under  the  clear 
wail  of  the  violin,  and  she,  her  eyes  almost  clos 
ing,  the  escaping  strands  of  her  dark  hair  wildly 
framing  her  pale  face,  and  her  slender  body  sway 
ing  to  the  tones  she  called  forth,  all  combined  to 
fire  my  imagination  and  my  heart  with  a  passion 
though  boyish,  yet  strong  and,  somehow,  lasting. 
I  have  tried  to  describe  the  scene;  if  I  have  suc 
ceeded  it  is  only  half  success,  for  words  can  only 


28  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

partially  express  what  I  would  wish  to  convey. 
Always  in  recalling  that  Sunday  afternoon  I  am 
subconscious  of  a  faint  but  distinct  fragrance 
which,  like  some  old  memory-awakening  perfume, 
rises  and  suffuses  my  whole  imagination,  inducing 
a  state  of  reverie  so  airy  as  to  just  evade  the 
powers  of  expression. 

She  was  my  first  love,  and  I  loved  her  as  only 
a  boy  loves.  I  dreamed  of  her,  I  built  air  castles 
for  her,  she  was  the  incarnation  of  each  beautiful 
heroine  I  knew;  when  I  played  the  piano  it  was 
to  her,  not  even  did  music  furnish  an  adequate 
outlet  for  my  passion ;  I  bought  a  new  note-book, 
and,  to  sing  her  praises,  made  my  first  and  last 
attempts  at  poetry.  I  remember  one  day  at 
school,  after  having  given  in  our  note-books  to 
have  some  exercises  corrected,  the  teacher  called 
me  to  her  desk  and  said,  "I  couldn't  correct  your 
exercises  because  I  found  nothing  in  your  book 
but  a  rhapsody  on  somebody's  brown  eyes."  I 
had  passed  in  the  wrong  note-book.  I  don't 
think  I  have  felt  greater  embarrassment  in  my 
whole  life  than  I  did  at  that  moment.  I  was  not 
only  ashamed  that  my  teacher  should  see  this  na 
kedness  of  my  heart,  but  that  she  should  find  out 
that  I  had  any  knowledge  of  such  affairs.  It 
did  not  then  occur  to  me  to  be  ashamed  of  the 
kind  of  poetry  I  had  written. 

Of  course,  the  reader  must  know  that  all  of 
this  adoration  was  in  secret;  next  to  my  great 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  29 

love  for  this  young  lady  was  the  dread  that  in 
some  way  she  would  find  it  out.  I  did  not  know 
what  some  men  never  find  out,  that  the  woman 
who  cannot  discern  when  she  is  loved  has  never 
lived.  It  makes  me  laugh  to  think  how  success 
ful  I  was  in  concealing  it  all ;  within  a  short  time 
after  our  duet  all  of  the  friends  of  my  dear  one 
were  referring  to  me  as  her  "little  sweetheart,"  or 
her  "little  beau,"  and  she  laughingly  encouraged 
it.  This  did  not  entirely  satisfy  me;  I  wanted 
to  be  taken  seriously.  I  had  definitely  made  up 
my  mind  that  I  should  never  love  another  woman, 
and  that  if  she  deceived  me  I  should  do  something 
desperate — the  great  difficulty  was  to  think  of 
something  sufficiently  desperate — and  the  heart 
less  jade,  how  she  led  me  on! 

So  I  hurried  home  that  afternoon,  humming 
snatches  of  the  violin  part  of  the  duet,  my  heart 
beating  with  pleasurable  excitement  over  the  fact 
that  I  was  going  to  be  near  her,  to  have  her  at 
tention  placed  directly  upon  me ;  that  I  was  going 
to  be  of  service  to  her,  and  in  a  way  in  which  I 
could  show  myself  to  advantage — this  last  consid 
eration  has  much  to  do  with  cheerful  service. — The 
anticipation  produced  in  me  a  sensation  some 
what  between  bliss  and  fear.  I  rushed  through 
the  gate,  took  the  three  steps  to  the  house  at  one 
bound,  threw  open  the  door,  and  was  about  to 
hang  my  cap  on  its  accustomed  peg  of  the  hall 
rack  when  I  noticed  that  that  particular  peg  was 


30  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

occupied  by  a  black  derby  hat.  I  stopped  sud 
denly,  and  gazed  at  this  hat  as  though  I  had 
never  seen  an  object  of  its  description.  I  was 
still  looking  at  it  in  open-eyed  wonder  when  my 
mother,  coming  out  of  the  parlor  into  the  hallway, 
called  me,  and  said  there  was  someone  inside  who 
wanted  to  see  me.  Feeling  that  I  was  being  made 
a  party  to  some  kind  of  mystery  I  went  in  with 
her,  and  there  I  saw  a  man  standing  leaning  with 
one  elbow  on  the  mantel,  his  back  partly  turned 
toward  the  door.  As  I  entered  he  turned,  and  I 
saw  a  tall,  handsome,  well  dressed  gentleman  of 
perhaps  thirty-five ;  he  advanced  a  step  toward 
me  with  a  smile  on  his  face.  I  stopped  and 
looked  at  him  with  the  same  feelings  with  which 
I  had  looked  at  the  derby  hat,  except  that  they 
were  greatly  magnified.  I  looked  at  him  from 
head  to  foot,  but  he  was  an  absolute  blank  to  me 
until  my  eyes  rested  on  his  slender,  elegant,  pol 
ished  shoes ;  then  it  seemed  that  indistinct  and 
partly  obliterated  films  of  memory  began  at  first 
slowly  then  rapidly  to  unroll,  forming  a  vague 
panorama  of  my  childhood  days  in  Georgia. 

My  mother  broke  the  spell  by  calling  me  by 
name,  and  saying,  "This  is  your  father." 

"Father,  Father,"  that  was  the  word  which 
had  been  to  me  a  source  of  doubt  and  perplexity 
ever  since  the  interview  with  my  mother  on  the 
subject.  How  often  I  had  wondered  about  my 
father,  who  he  was,  what  he  was  like,  whether 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  31 

alive  or  dead,  and  above  all,  why  she  would  not 
tell  me  about  him.  More  than  once  I  had  been 
on  the  point  of  recalling  to  her  the  promise  she 
had  made  me,  but  I  instinctively  felt  that  she  was 
happier  for  not  telling  me  and  that  I  was  happier 
for  not  being  told ;  yet  I  had  not  the  slightest 
idea  what  the  real  truth  was.  And  here  he  stood 
before  me,  just  the  kind  of  looking  father  I  had 
wishfully  pictured  him  to  be;  but  I  made  no  ad 
vance  toward  him;  I  stood  there  feeling  embar 
rassed  and  foolish,  not  knowing  what  to  say  or  do. 
I  am  not  sure  but  that  he  felt  pretty  much  the 
same.  My  mother  stood  at  my  side  with  one 
hand  on  my  shoulder  almost  pushing  me  forward, 
but  I  did  not  move.  I  can  well  remember  the 
look  of  disappointment,  even  pain,  on  her  face; 
and  I  can  now  understand  that  she  could  expect 
nothing  else  but  that  at  the  name  "father"  I 
should  throw  myself  into  his  arms.  But  I  could 
not  rise  to  this  dramatic  or,  better,  melodramatic 
climax.  Somehow  I  could  not  arouse  any  consid 
erable  feeling  of  need  for  a  father.  He  broke 
the  awkward  tableau  by  saying,  "Well,  boy,  aren't 
you  glad  to  see  me?"  He  evidently  meant  the 
words  kindly  enough,  but  I  don't  know  what  he 
could  have  said  that  would  have  had  a  worse  ef 
fect  ;  however,  my  good  breeding  came  to  my  res 
cue,  and  I  answered,  "Yes,  sir,"  and  went  to  him 
and  offered  him  my  hand.  He  took  my  hand  into 
one  of  his,  and,  with  the  other,  stroked  my  head 


32  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

saying  that  I  had  grown  into  a  fine  youngster. 
He  asked  me  how  old  I  was ;  which,  of  course,  he 
must  have  done  merely  to  say  something  more,  or 
perhaps  he  did  so  as  a  test  of  my  intelligence.  I 
replied,  "Twelve,  sir."  He  then  made  the  trite 
observation  about  the  flight  of  time,  and  we  lapsed 
into  another  awkward  pause. 

My  mother  was  all  in  smiles ;  I  believe  that  was 
one  of  the  happiest  moments  of  her  life.  Either 
to  put  me  more  at  ease  or  to  show  me  off,  she 
asked  me  to  play  something  for  my  father. 
There  is  only  one  thing  in  the  world  that  can 
make  music,  at  all  times  and  under  all  circum 
stances,  up  to  its  general  standard,  that  is  a 
hand-organ,  or  one  of  its  variations.  I  went  to 
the  piano  and  played  something  in  a  listless,  half 
hearted  way.  I  simply  was  not  in  the  mood.  I 
was  wondering,  while  playing,  when  my  mother 
would  dismiss  me  and  let  me  go ;  but  my  father 
was  so  enthusiastic  in  his  praise  that  he  touched 
my  vanity — which  was  great — and  more  than 
that ;  he  displayed  that  sincere  appreciation  which 
always  arouses  an  artist  to  his  best  effort,  and, 
too,  in  an  unexplainable  manner,  makes  him  feel 
like  shedding  tears.  I  showed  my  gratitude  by 
playing  for  him  a  Chopin  waltz  with  all  the  feel 
ing  that  was  in  me.  When  I  had  finished  my 
mother's  eyes  were  glistening  with  tears ;  my 
father  stepped  across  the  room,  seized  me  in  his 
arms,  and  squeezed  me  to  his  breast.  I  am  cer- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  33 

tain  that  for  that  moment  he  was  proud  to  be 
my  father.  He  sat  and  held  me  standing  be 
tween  his  knees  while  he  talked  to  my  mother.  I, 
in  the  meantime,  examined  him  with  more  curios 
ity,  perhaps,  than  politeness.  I  interrupted  the 
conversation  by  asking,  "Mother,  is  he  going  to 
stay  with  us  now?"  I  found  it  impossible  to 
frame  the  word  "father" ;  it  was  too  new  to  me ; 
so  I  asked  the  question  through  my  mother. 
Without  waiting  for  her  to  speak,  my  father  an 
swered,  "I've  got  to  go  back  to  New  York  this 
afternoon,  but  I'm  coming  to  see  you  again."  I 
turned  abruptly  and  went  over  to  my  mother, 
and  almost  in  a  whisper  reminded  her  that  I  had 
an  appointment  which  I  should  not  miss;  to  my 
pleasant  surprise  she  said  that  she  would  give  me 
something  to  eat  at  once  so  that  I  might  go. 
She  went  out  of  the  room,  and  I  began  to  gather 
from  off  the  piano  the  music  I  needed.  When  I 
had  finished,  my  father,  who  had  been  watching 
me,  asked,  "Are  you  going?"  I  replied,  "Yes, 
sir,  I've  got  to  go  to  practice  for  a  concert." 
He  spoke  some  words  of  advice  to  me  about  being 
a  good  boy  and  taking  care  of  my  mother  when 
I  grew  up,  and  added  that  he  was  going  to  send 
me  something  nice  from  New  York.  My  mother 
called,  and  I  said  good-by  to  him,  and  went  out. 
I  saw  him  only  once  after  that. 

I  quickly  swallowed  down  what  my  mother  had 
put  on  the  table  for  me,  seized  my  cap  and  mu- 


34  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

sic,  and  hurried  off  to  my  teacher's  house.  On 
the  way  I  could  think  of  nothing  but  this  new 
father,  where  he  came  from,  where  he  had  been, 
why  he  was  here,  and  why  he  would  not  stay. 
In  my  mind  I  ran  over  the  whole  list  of  fathers 
I  had  become  acquainted  with  in  my  reading,  but 
I  could  not  classify  him.  The  thought  did  not 
cross  my  mind  that  he  was  different  from  me,  and 
even  if  it  had  the  mystery  would  not  thereby 
have  been  explained ;  for  notwithstanding  my 
changed  relations  with  most  of  my  schoolmates, 
I  had  only  a  faint  knowledge  of  prejudice  and  no 
idea  at  all  how  it  ramified  and  affected  the  entire 
social  organism.  I  felt,  however,  that  there  was 
something  about  the  whole  affair  which  had  to  be 
hid. 

When  I  arrived  I  found  that  she  of  the  brown 
eyes  had  been  rehearsing  with  my  teacher,  and 
was  on  the  point  of  leaving.  My  teacher  with 
some  expressions  of  surprise  asked  why  I  was 
late,  and  I  stammered  out  the  first  deliberate  lie 
of  which  I  have  any  recollection.  I  told  him 
that  when  I  reached  home  from  school  I  found 
my  mother  quite  sick,  and  that  I  had  stayed  with 
her  a  while  before  coming.  Then  unnecessarily 
and  gratuitously,  to  give  my  words  force  of  con 
viction,  I  suppose,  I  added,  "I  don't  think  she'll 
be  with  us  very  long."  In  speaking  these  words 
I  must  have  been  comical;  for  I  noticed  that  my 
teacher,  instead  of  showing  signs  of  anxiety  or 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  35 

sorrow,  half  hid  a  smile.  But  how  little  did  I 
know  that  in  that  lie  I  was  speaking  a  prophecy. 

She  of  the  brown  eyes  unpacked  her  violin,  and 
we  went  through  the  duet  several  times.  I  was 
soon  lost  to  all  other  thoughts  in  the  delights  of 
music  and  love.  I  say  delights  of  love  without 
reservation;  for  at  no  time  of  life  is  love  so  pure, 
so  delicious,  so  poetic,  so  romantic,  as  it  is  in 
boyhood.  A  great  deal  has  been  said  about  the 
heart  of  a  girl  when  she  stands  "where  the  brook 
and  river  meet,"  but  what  she  feels  is  negative; 
more  interesting  is  the  heart  of  a  boy  when  just 
at  the  budding  dawn  of  manhood  he  stands  look 
ing  wide-eyed  into  the  long  vistas  opening  before 
him ;  when  he  first  becomes  conscious  of  the  awak 
ening  and  quickening  of  strange  desires  and  un 
known  powers ;  when  what  he  sees  and  feels  is 
still  shadowy  and  mystical  enough  to  be  intangi 
ble,  and,  so,  more  beautiful;  when  his  imagina 
tion  is  unsullied,  and  his  faith  new  and  whole — 
then  it  is  that  love  wears  a  halo — the  man  who 
has  not  loved  before  he  was  fourteen  has  missed 
a  fore-taste  of  Elysium. 

When  I  reached  home  it  was  quite  dark,  and  I 
found  my  mother  without  a  light,  sitting  rocking 
in  a  chair  as  she  so  often  used  to  do  in  my  child 
hood  days,  looking  into  the  fire  and  singing 
softly  to  herself.  I  nestled  close  to  her,  and  with 
her  arms  around  me  she  haltingly  told  me  who  my 
father  was, — a  great  man,  a  fine  gentleman, — he 


36  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

loved  me  and  loved  her  very  much;  he  was  going 
to  make  a  great  man  of  me.  All  she  said  was 
so  limited  by  reserve  and  so  colored  by  her  feel 
ings  that  it  was  but  half  truth ;  and  so,  I  did  not 
yet  fully  understand. 


CHAPTER    III 

Perhaps  I  ought  not  pass  on  this  narrative 
without  mentioning  that  the  duet  was  a  great 
success ;  so  great  that  we  were  obliged  to  respond 
with  two  encores.  It  seemed  to  me  that  life 
could  hold  no  greater  joy  than  it  contained  when 
I  took  her  hand  and  we  stepped  down  to  the 
front  of  the  stage  bowing  to  our  enthusiastic 
audience.  When  we  reached  the  little  dressing- 
room,  where  the  other  performers  were  applaud 
ing  as  wildly  as  the  audience,  she  impulsively 
threw  both  her  arms  around  me,  and  kissed  me, 
while  I  struggled  to  get  away. 

One  day  a  couple  of  weeks  after  my  father  had 
been  to  see  us,  a  wagon  drove  up  to  our  cottage 
loaded  with  a  big  box.  I  was  about  to  tell  the 
man  on  the  wagon  that  they  had  made  a  mistake, 
when  my  mother,  acting  darkly  wise,  told  them  to 
bring  their  load  in ;  she  had  them  to  unpack 
the  box,  and  quickly  there  was  evolved  from 
the  boards,  paper  and  other  packing  mate 
rial,  a  beautiful,  brand  new,  upright  piano. 
Then  she  informed  me  that  it  was  a  present  to  me 
from  my  father.  I  at  once  sat  down  and  ran  my 
fingers  over  the  keys ;  the  full,  mellow  tone  of  the 

37 


38  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

instrument  was  ravishing.  I  thought,  almost  re 
morsefully,  of  how  I  had  left  my  father;  but, 
even  so,  there  momentarily  crossed  my  mind  a 
feeling  of  disappointment  that  the  piano  was  not 
a  grand.  The  new  instrument  greatly  increased 
the  pleasure  of  my  hours  of  study  and  practice 
at  home. 

Shortly  after  this  I  was  made  a  member  of  the 
boys'  choir,  it  being  found  that  I  possessed  a 
clear,  strong  soprano  voice.  I  enjoyed  the  sing 
ing  very  much.  About  a  year  later  I  began  the 
study  of  the  pipe  organ  and  the  theory  of  mu 
sic;  and  before  I  finished  the  grammar  school  I 
had  written  out  several  simple  preludes  for  organ 
which  won  the  admiration  of  my  teacher,  and 
which  he  did  me  the  honor  to  play  at  services. 

The  older  I  grew  the  more  thought  I  gave  to 
the  question  of  my  and  my  mother's  position,  and 
what  was  our  exact  relation  to  the  world  in  gen 
eral.  My  idea  of  the  whole  matter  was  rather 
hazy.  My  study  of  United  States  history  had 
been  confined  to  those  periods  which  were  desig 
nated  in  my  book  as  "Discovery,"  "Colonial," 
"Revolutionary,"  and  "Constitutional."  I  now 
began  to  study  about  the  Civil  War,  but  the  story 
was  told  in  such  a  condensed  and  skipping  style 
that  I  gained  from  it  very  little  real  information. 
It  is  a  marvel  how  children  ever  learn  any  his 
tory  out  of  books  of  that  sort.  And,  too,  I  be 
gan  now  to  read  the  newspapers ;  I  often  saw  ar- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  39 

tides  which  aroused  my  curiosity,  but  did  not  en 
lighten  me.  But,  one  day,  I  drew  from  the  cir 
culating  library  a  book  that  cleared  the  whole 
mystery,  a  book  that  I  read  with  the  same  fever 
ish  intensity  with  which  I  had  read  the  old  Bible 
stories,  a  book  that  gave  me  my  first  perspective 
of  the  life  I  was  entering;  that  book  was  "Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin." 

This  work  of  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  has  been 
the  object  of  much  unfavorable  criticism.  It  has 
been  assailed,  not  only  as  fiction  of  the  most  im 
aginative  sort,  but  as  being  a  direct  misrepresen 
tation.  Several  successful  attempts  have  lately 
been  made  to  displace  the  book  from  northern 
school  libraries.  Its  critics  would  brush  it  aside 
with  the  remark  that  there  never  was  a  Negro  as 
good  as  Uncle  Tom,  nor  a  slave-holder  as  bad  as 
Lagree.  For  my  part,  I  was  never  an  admirer  of 
Uncle  Tom,  nor  of  his  type  of  goodness;  but  I 
believe  that  there  were  lots  of  old  Negroes  as  fool 
ishly  good  as  he ;  the  proof  of  which  is  that  they 
knowingly  stayed  and  worked  the  plantations  that 
furnished  sinews  for  the  army  which  was  fighting 
to  keep  them  enslaved.  But,  in  these  later  years, 
several  cases  have  come  to  my  personal  knowledge 
in  which  old  Negroes  have  died  and  left  what  was 
a  considerable  fortune  to  the  descendants  of  their 
former  masters.  I  do  not  think  it  takes  any  great 
stretch  of  the  imagination  to  believe  there  was  a 
fairly  large  class  of  slave  holders  typified  in  La- 


40  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

gree.  And  we  must  also  remember  that  the  au 
thor  depicted  a  number  of  worthless  if  not  vicious 
Negroes,  and  a  slave  holder  who  was  as  much  of  a 
Christian  and  a  gentleman  as  it  was  possible  for 
one  in  his  position  to  be;  that  she  pictured  the 
happy,  singing,  shuffling  darkey  as  well  as  the 
mother  waiting  for  her  child  sold  "down  river." 

I  do  not  think  it  is  claiming  too  much  to  say 
that  "Uncle  Tom's  Cabin"  was  a  fair  and  truthful 
panorama  of  slavery;  however  that  may  be,  it 
opened  my  eyes  as  to  who  and  what  I  was  and 
what  my  country  considered  me;  in  fact,  it  gave 
me  my  bearing.  But  there  was  no  shock;  I  took 
the  whole  revelation  in  a  kind  of  stoical  way. 
One  of  the  greatest  benefits  I  derived  from  read 
ing  the  book  was  that  I  could  afterwards  talk 
frankly  with  my  mother  on  all  the  questions  which 
had  been  vaguely  troubling  my  mind.  As  a  re 
sult,  she  was  entirely  freed  from  reserve,  and  often 
herself  brought  up  the  subject,  talking  of  things 
directly  touching  her  life  and  mine  and  of  things 
which  had  come  down  to  her  through  the  "old 
folks."  What  she  told  me  interested  and  even 
fascinated  me;  and,  what  may  seem  strange,  kin 
dled  in  me  a  strong  desire  to  see  the  South.  She 
spoke  to  me  quite  frankly  about  herself,  my  father 
and  myself;  she,  the  sewing  girl  of  my  father's 
mother;  he,  an  impetuous  young  man  home  from 
college;  I,  the  child  of  this  unsanctioned  love. 
She  told  me  even  the  principal  reason  for  our 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  41 

coming  North.  My  father  was  about  to  be  mar 
ried  to  a  young  lady  of  another  great  Southern 
family.  She  did  not  neglect  to  add  that  another 
reason  for  our  being  in  Connecticut  was  that  he 
intended  to  give  me  an  education,  and  make  a  man 
of  me.  In  none  of  her  talks  did  she  ever  utter 
one  word  of  complaint  against  my  father.  She 
always  endeavored  to  impress  upon  me  how  good 
he  had  been  and  still  was,  and  that  he  was  all  to 
us  that  custom  and  the  law  would  allow.  She 
loved  him;  more,  she  worshiped  him,  and  she 
died  firmly  believing  that  he  loved  her  more 
than  any  other  woman  in  the  world.  Perhaps  she 
was  right.  Who  knows? 

All  of  these  newly  awakened  ideas  and  thoughts 
took  the  form  of  a  definite  aspiration  on  the  day  I 
graduated  from  the  grammar  school.  And  what 
a  day  that  was !  The  girls  in  white  dresess  with 
fresh  ribbons  in  their  hair;  the  boys  in  new  suits 
and  creaky  shoes ;  the  great  crowd  of  parents  and 
friends,  the  flowers,  the  prizes  and  congratula 
tions,  made  the  day  seem  to  me  one  of  the  greatest 
importance.  I  was  on  the  programme,  and  played 
a  piano  solo  which  was  received  by  the  audience 
with  that  amount  of  applause  which  I  had  come  to 
look  upon  as  being  only  the  just  due  to  my  talent. 

But  the  real  enthusiasm  was  aroused  by 
"Shiny."  He  was  the  principal  speaker  of  the 
day,  and  well  did  he  measure  up  to  the  honor. 
He  made  a  striking  picture,  that  thin  little  black 


42  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

boy  standing  on  the  platform,  dressed  in  clothes 
that  did  not  fit  him  any  too  well,  his  eyes  burning 
with  excitement,  his  shrill,  musical  voice  vibrating 
in  tones  of  appealing  defiance,  and  his  black  face 
alight  with  such  great  intelligence  and  earnestness 
as  to  be  positively  handsome.  What  were  his 
thoughts  when  he  stepped  forward  and  looked  into 
that  crowd  of  faces,  all  white  with  the  exception 
of  a  score  or  so  that  were  lost  to  view.  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  fancy  he  felt  his  loneliness.  I  think 
there  must  have  rushed  over  him  a  feeling  akin 
to  that  of  a  gladiator  tossed  into  the  arena  and 
bade  to  fight  for  his  life.  I  think  that  solitary 
little  black  figure  standing  there  felt  that  for  the 
particular  time  and  place  he  bore  the  weight  and 
responsibility  of  his  race ;  that  for  him  to  fail 
meant  general  defeat;  but  he  won,  and  nobly. 
His  oration  was  Wendell  Phillips'  "Toussant 
L'Ouverture,"  a  speech  which  may  now  be  classed 
as  rhetorical,  even,  perhaps,  bombastic ;  but  as  the 
words  fell  from  "Shiny's"  lips  their  effect  was 
magical.  How  so  young  an  orator  could  stir  so 
great  enthusiasm  was  to  be  wondered  at.  When 
in  the  famous  peroration,  his  voice  trembling  with 
suppressed  emotion  rose  higher  and  higher  and 
then  rested  on  the  name  Toussant  L'Ouver- 
ture,  it  was  like  touching  an  electric  button  which 
loosed  the  pent-up  feelings  of  his  listeners.  They 
actually  rose  to  him. 

I  have  since  known  of  colored  men  who  have 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  43 

been  chosen  as  class  orators  in  our  leading  uni 
versities,  of  others  who  have  played  on  the  'Varsity 
foot-ball  and  base-ball  teams,  of  colored  speakers 
who  have  addressed  great  white  audiences.  In 
each  of  these  instances  I  believe  the  men  were 
stirred  by  the  same  emotions  which  actuated 
"Shiny"  on  the  day  of  his  graduation;  and,  too, 
in  each  case  where  the  efforts  have  reached  any 
high  standard  of  excellence  they  have  been  fol 
lowed  by  the  same  phenomenon  of  enthusiasm.  I 
think  the  explanation  of  the  latter  lies  in  what  is 
a  basic,  though  often  dormant,  principle  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  heart,  love  of  fair  play.  "Shiny," 
it  is  true,  was  what  is  so  common  in  his  race,  a 
natural  orator;  but  I  doubt  that  any  white  boy 
of  equal  talent  could  have  wrought  the  same  effect. 
The  sight  of  that  boy  gallantly  waging  with  puny, 
black  arms,  so  unequal  a  battle,  touched  the  deep 
springs  in  the  hearts  of  his  audience,  and  they 
were  swept  by  a  wave  of  sympathy  and  admira 
tion. 

But  the  effect  upon  me  of  "Shiny's"  speech  was 
double;  I  not  only  shared  the  enthusiasm  of  his 
audience,  but  he  imparted  to  me  some  of  his  own 
enthusiasm.  I  felt  leap  within  me  pride  that  I 
was  colored;  and  I  began  to  form  wild  dreams  of 
bringing  glory  and  honor  to  the  Negro  race. 
For  days  I  could  talk  of  nothing  else  with  my 
mother  except  my  ambitions  to  be  a  great  man,  a 
great  colored  man,  to  reflect  credit  on  the  race, 


44  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

and  gain  fame  for  myself.  It  was  not  until  years 
after  that  I  formulated  a  definite  and  feasible 
plan  for  realizing  my  dreams. 

I  entered  the  high  school  with  my  class,  and 
still  continued  my  study  of  the  piano,  the  pipe 
organ  and  the  theory  of  music.  I  had  to  drop 
out  of  the  boys'  choir  on  account  of  a  changing 
voice;  this  I  regretted  very  much.  As  I  grew 
older  my  love  for  reading  grew  stronger.  I  read 
with  studious  interest  everything  I  could  find  re 
lating  to  colored  men  who  had  gained  prominence. 
My  heroes  had  been  King  David,  then  Robert  the 
Bruce;  now  Frederick  Douglass  was  enshrined  in 
the  place  of  honor.  When  I  learned  that  Alex 
ander  Dumas  was  a  colored  man,  I  re-read  "Monte 
Cristo"  and  "The  Three  Guardsmen"  with  magni 
fied  pleasure.  I  lived  between  my  music  and 
books,  on  the  whole  a  rather  unwholesome  life  for 
a  boy  to  lead.  I  dwelt  in  a  world  of  imagination, 
of  dreams  and  air  castles, — the  kind  of  atmosphere 
that  sometimes  nourishes  a  genius,  more  often  men 
unfitted  for  the  practical  struggles  of  life.  I 
never  played  a  game  of  ball,  never  went  fishing  or 
learned  to  swim;  in  fact,  the  only  outdoor  exer 
cise  in  which  I  took  any  interest  was  skating. 
Nevertheless,  though  slender,  I  grew  well- formed 
and  in  perfect  health.  After  I  entered  the  high 
school  I  began  to  notice  the  change  in  my  mother's 
health,  which  I  suppose  had  been  going  on  for 
some  years.  She  began  to  complain  a  little  and 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  45 

to  cough  a  great  deal;  she  tried  several  remedies, 
and  finally  went  to  see  a  doctor;  but  though  she 
was  failing  in  health  she  kept  her  spirits  up.  She 
still  did  a  great  deal  of  sewing,  and  in  the  busy 
seasons  hired  two  women  to  help  her.  The  pur 
pose  she  had  formed  of  having  me  go  through 
college  without  financial  worries  kept  her  at  work 
when  she  was  not  fit  for  it.  I  was  so  fortunate 
as  to  be  able  to  organize  a  class  of  eight  or  ten 
beginners  on  the  piano,  and  so  start  a  separate 
little  fund  of  my  own.  As  the  time  for  my  gradu 
ation  from  the  high  school  grew  nearer,  the  plans 
for  my  college  career  became  the  chief  subject  of 
our  talks.  I  sent  for  catalogues  of  all  the  promi 
nent  schools  in  the  East,  and  eagerly  gathered 
all  the  information  I  could  concerning  them  from 
different  sources.  My  mother  told  me  that  my 
father  wanted  me  to  go  to  Harvard  or  Yale;  she 
herself  had  a  half  desire  for  me  to  go  to  Atlanta 
University,  and  even  had  me  write  for  a  catalogue 
of  that  school.  There  were  two  reasons,  how 
ever,  that  inclined  her  to  my  father's  choice:  the 
first,  that  at  Harvard  or  Yale  I  should  be  near 
her;  the  second,  that  my  father  had  promised  to 
pay  a  part  of  my  college  education. 

Both  "Shiny"  and  "Red"  came  to  my  house 
quite  often  of  evenings,  and  we  used  to  talk  over 
our  plans  and  prospects  for  the  future.  Sometimes 
I  would  play  for  them,  and  they  seemed  to  enjoy 
the  music  very  much.  My  mother  often  prepared 


46  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

sundry  southern  dishes  for  them,  which  I  am  not 
sure  but  that  they  enjoyed  more.  "Shiny"  had  an 
uncle  in  Amherst,  Mass.,  and  he  expected  to  live 
with  him  and  work  his  way  through  Amherst 
College.  "Red"  declared  that  he  had  enough  of 
school  and  that  after  he  got  his  high  school  di 
ploma  he  would  get  a  position  in  a  bank.  It  was 
his  ambition  to  become  a  banker,  and  he  felt  sure 
of  getting  the  opportunity  through  certain  mem 
bers  of  his  family. 

My  mother  barely  had  strength  to  attend  the 
closing  exercises  of  the  high  school  when  I  gradu 
ated;  and  after  that  day  she  was  seldom  out  of 
bed.  She  could  no  longer  direct  her  work,  and 
under  the  expense  of  medicines,  doctors,  and  some 
one  to  look  after  her,  our  college  fund  began  to 
diminish  rapidly.  Many  of  her  customers  and 
some  of  the  neighbors  were  very  kind,  and  fre 
quently  brought  her  nourishment  of  one  kind  or 
another.  My  mother  realized  what  I  did  not,  that 
she  was  mortally  ill,  and  she  had  me  write  a  long 
letter  to  my  father.  For  some  time  past  she  had 
heard  from  him  only  at  irregular  intervals;  we 
never  received  an  answer.  In  those  last  days  I 
often  sat  at  her  bedside  and  read  to  her  until  she 
fell  asleep.  Sometimes  I  would  leave  the  parlor 
door  open  and  play  on  the  piano,  just  loud  enough 
for  the  music  to  reach  her.  This  she  always  en 
joyed. 

One  night,  near  the  end  of  July,  after  I  had 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  47 

been  watching  beside  her  for  some  hours,  I  went 
into  the  parlor,  and  throwing  myself  into  the  big 
arm  chair  dozed  off  into  a  fitful  sleep.  I  was 
suddenly  aroused  by  one  of  the  neighbors,  who  had 
come  in  to  sit  with  her  that  night.  She  said, 
"Come  to  your  mother  at  once."  I  hurried  up 
stairs,  and  at  the  bedroom  door  met  the  woman 
who  was  acting  as  nurse.  I  noted  with  a  dissolv 
ing  heart  the  strange  look  of  awe  on  her  face. 
From  my  first  glance  at  my  mother,  I  discerned 
the  light  of  death  upon  her  countenance.  I  fell 
upon  my  knees  beside  the  bed,  and  burying  my 
face  in  the  sheets  sobbed  convulsively.  She  died 
with  the  fingers  of  her  left  hand  entwined  in  my 
hair. 

I  will  not  rake  over  this,  one  of  the  two  sacred 
sorrows  of  my  life ;  nor  could  I  describe  the  feeling 
of  unutterable  loneliness  that  fell  upon  me.  After 
the  funeral  I  went  to  the  house  of  my  music 
teacher;  he  had  kindly  offered  me  the  hospitality 
of  his  home  for  so  long  as  I  might  need  it.  A  few 
days  later  I  moved  my  trunk,  piano,  my  music  and 
most  of  my  books  to  his  home;  the  rest  of  my 
books  I  divided  between  "Shiny"  and  "Red." 
Some  of  the  household  effects  I  gave  to  "Shiny's" 
mother  and  to  two  or  three  of  the  neighbors  who 
had  been  kind  to  us  during  my  mother's  illness; 
the  others  I  sold.  After  settling  up  my 
little  estate  I  found  that  besides  a  good  sup 
ply  of  clothes,  a  piano,  some  books  and  other 


48  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

trinkets,  I  had  about  two  hundred  dollars  in 
cash. 

The  question  of  what  I  was  to  do  now  con 
fronted  me.  My  teacher  suggested  a  concert 
tour ;  but  both  of  us  realized  that  I  was  too  old  to 
be  exploited  as  an  infant  prodigy  and  too  young 
and  inexperienced  to  go  before  the  public  as  a 
finished  artist.  He,  however,  insisted  that  the 
people  of  the  town  would  generously  patronize  a 
benefit  concert,  so  took  up  the  matter,  and  made 
arrangements  for  such  an  entertainment.  A  more 
than  sufficient  number  of  people  with  musical  and 
elocutionary  talent  volunteered  their  services  to 
make  a  programme.  Among  these  was  my  brown- 
eyed  violinist.  But  our  relations  were  not  the 
same  as  they  were  when  we  had  played  our  first 
duet  together.  A  year  or  so  after  that  time  she 
had  dealt  me  a  crushing  blow  by  getting  married. 
I  was  partially  avenged,  however,  by  the  fact  that, 
though  she  was  growing  more  beautiful,  she  was 
losing  her  ability  to  play  the  violin. 

I  was  down  on  the  programme  for  one  number. 
My  selection  might  have  appeared  at  that  par 
ticular  time  as  a  bit  of  affectation,  but  I  consid 
ered  it  deeply  appropriate;  I  played  Beethoven's 
"Sonata  Pathetique."  When  I  sat  down  at  the 
piano,  and  glanced  into  the  faces  of  the  several 
hundreds  of  people  who  were  there  solely  on  ac 
count  of  love  or  sympathy  for  me,  emotions 
swelled  in  my  heart  which  enabled  me  to  play  the 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  49 

"Pathetique"  as  I  could  never  again  play  it. 
When  the  last  tone  died  away  the  few  who  began 
to  applaud  were  hushed  by  the  silence  of  the 
others ;  and  for  once  I  played  without  receiving 
an  encore. 

The  benefit  yielded  me  a  little  more  than  two 
hundred  dollars,  thus  raising  my  cash  capital  to 
about  four  hundred  dollars.  I  still  held  to  my 
determination  of  going  to  college;  so  it  was  now 
a  question  of  trying  to  squeeze  through  a  year  at 
Harvard  or  going  to  Atlanta  where  the  money  I 
had  would  pay  my  actual  expenses  for  at  least  two 
years.  The  peculiar  fascination  which  the  South 
held  over  my  imagination  and  my  limited  capital 
decided  me  in  favor  of  Atlanta  University;  so 
about  the  last  of  September  I  bade  farewell  to  the 
friends  and  scenes  of  my  boyhood,  and  boarded  a 
train  for  the  South. 


CHAPTER  IV 

The  farther  I  got  below  Washington  the  more 
disappointed  I  became  in  the  appearance  of  the 
country.  I  peered  through  the  car  windows,  look 
ing  in  vain  for  the  luxuriant  semi-tropical  scenery 
which  I  had  pictured  in  my  mind.  I  did  not  find 
the  grass  so  green,  nor  the  woods  so  beautiful,  nor 
the  flowers  so  plentiful,  as  they  were  in  Connecti 
cut.  Instead,  the  red  earth  partly  covered  by 
tough,  scrawny  grass,  the  muddy  straggling 
roads,  the  cottages  of  unpainted  pine  boards,  and 
the  clay  daubed  huts  imparted  a  "burnt  up"  im 
pression.  Occasionally  we  ran  through  a  little 
white  and  green  village  that  was  like  an  oasis  in  a 
desert. 

When  I  reached  Atlanta  my  steadily  increasing 
disappointment  was  not  lessened.  I  found  it  a 
big,  dull,  red  town.  This  dull  red  color  of  that 
part  of  the  South  I  was  then  seeing  had  much,  I 
think,  to  do  with  the  extreme  depression  of  my 
spirits — no  public  squares,  no  fountains,  dingy 
street-cars  and,  with  the  exception  of  three  or 
four  principal  thoroughfares,  unpaved  streets.  It 
was  raining  when  I  arrived  and  some  of  these  un 
paved  streets  were  absolutely  impassable.  Wheels 

50 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  51 

sank  to  the  hubs  in  red  mire,  and  I  actually  stood 
for  an  hour  and  watched  four  or  five  men  work  to 
save  a  mule,  which  had  stepped  into  a  deep  sink, 
from  drowning,  or,  rather,  suffocating  in  the  mud. 
The  Atlanta  of  to-day  is  a  new  city. 

On  the  train  I  had  talked  with  one  of  the  Pull 
man  car  porters,  a  bright  young  fellow  who  was 
himself  a  student,  and  told  him  that  I  was  going 
to  Atlanta  to  attend  school.  I  had  also  asked 
him  to  tell  me  where  I  might  stop  for  a  day  or  two 
until  the  University  opened.  He  said  I  might  go 
with  him  to  the  place  where  he  stopped  during  his 
"layovers"  in  Atlanta.  I  gladly  accepted  his  of 
fer,  and  went  with  him  along  one  of  those  muddy 
streets  until  we  came  to  a  rather  rickety  looking 
frame  house,  which  we  entered.  The  proprietor 
of  the  house  was  a  big,  fat,  greasy  looking  brown- 
skinned  man.  When  I  asked  him  if  he  could  give 
me  accommodation  he  wanted  to  know  how  long  I 
would  stay.  I  told  him  perhaps  two  days,  not 
more  than  three.  In  reply  he  said,  "Oh,  dat's  all 
right  den,"  at  the  same  time  leading  the  way  up  a 
pair  of  creaky  stairs.  I  followed  him  and  the 
porter  to  a  room,  the  door  of  which  the  proprietor 
opened  while  continuing,  it  seemed,  his  remark, 
"Oh,  dat's  all  right  den,"  by  adding,  "You  kin 
sleep  in  dat  cot  in  de  corner  der.  Fifty  cents 
please."  The  porter  interrupted  by  saying,  "You 
needn't  collect  from  him  now,  he's  got  a  trunk." 
This  seemed  to  satisfy  the  man,  and  he  went  down 


52  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

leaving  me  and  my  porter  friend  in  the  room.  I 
glanced  around  the  apartment  and  saw  that  it 
contained  a  double  bed  and  two  cots,  two  wash- 
stands,  three  chairs,  and  a  time-worn  bureau  with 
a  looking-glass  that  would  have  made  Adonis  ap 
pear  hideous.  I  looked  at  the  cot  in  which  I  was 
to  sleep  and  suspected,  not  without  good  reasons, 
that  I  should  not  be  the  first  to  use  the  sheets  and 
pillow-case  since  they  had  last  come  from  the 
wash.  When  I  thought  of  the  clean,  tidy,  com 
fortable  surroundings  in  which  I  had  been  reared, 
a  wave  of  homesickness  swept  over  me  that  made 
me  feel  faint.  Had  it  not  been  for  the  presence  of 
my  companion,  and  that  I  knew  this  much  of  his 
history, — that  he  was  not  yet  quite  twenty,  just 
three  years  older  than  myself,  and  that  he  had 
been  fighting  his  own  way  in  the  world,  earning 
his  own  living  and  providing  for  his  own  educa 
tion  since  he  was  fourteen,  I  should  not  have  been 
able  to  stop  the  tears  that  were  welling  up  in  my 
eyes. 

I  asked  him  why  it  was  that  the  proprietor  of 
the  house  seemed  unwilling  to  accommodate  me  for 
more  than  a  couple  of  days.  He  informed  me  that 
the  man  ran  a  lodging  house  especially  for  Pull 
man  porters,  and  as  their  stays  in  town  were  not 
longer  than  one  or  two  nights  it  would  interfere 
with  his  arrangements  to  have  anyone  stay  longer. 
He  went  on  to  say,  "You  see  this  room  is  fixed  up 
to  accommodate  four  men  at  a  time.  Well,  by 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  53 

keeping1  a  sort  of  table  of  trips,  in  and  out,  of  the 
men,  and  working  them  like  checkers,  he  can  ac 
commodate  fifteen  or  sixteen  in  each  week,  and  gen 
erally  avoid  having  an  empty  bed.  You  happen 
to  catch  a  bed  that  would  have  been  empty  for  a 
couple  of  nights."  I  asked  him  where  he  was 
going  to  sleep.  He  answered,  "I  sleep  in  that 
other  cot  to-night;  to-morrow  night  I  go  out." 
He  went  on  to  tell  me  that  the  man  who  kept  the 
house  did  not  serve  meals,  and  that  if  I  was 
hungry  we  would  go  out  and  get  something  to 
eat. 

We  went  into  the  street,  and  in  passing  the 
railroad  station  I  hired  a  wagon  to  take  my  trunk 
to  my  lodging  place.  We  passed  along  until, 
finally,  we  turned  into  a  street  that  stretched 
away,  up  and  down  hill,  for  a  mile  or  two;  and 
here  I  caught  my  first  sight  of  colored  people  in 
large  numbers.  I  had  seen  little  squads  around 
the  railroad  stations  on  my  way  south;  but  here 
I  saw  a  street  crowded  with  them.  They  filled 
the  shops  and  thronged  the  sidewalks  and  lined 
the  curb.  I  asked  my  companion  if  all  the  colored 
people  in  Atlanta  lived  in  this  street.  He  said 
they  did  not,  and  assured  me  that  the  ones  I  saw 
were  of  the  lower  class.  I  felt  relieved,  in  spite 
of  the  size  of  the  lower  class.  The  unkempt  ap 
pearance,  the  shambling,  slouching  gait  and  loud 
talk  and  laughter  of  these  people  aroused  in  me  a 
feeling  of  almost  repulsion.  Only  one  thing  about 


54  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

them  awoke  a  feeling  of  interest ;  that  was  their 
dialect.  I  had  read  some  Negro  dialect  and  had 
heard  snatches  of  it  on  my  journey  down  from 
Washington ;  but  here  I  heard  it  in  all  of  its  full 
ness  and  freedom.  I  was  particularly  struck  by 
the  way  in  which  it  was  punctuated  by  such  ex 
clamatory  phrases  as  "Lawd  a  mussy !"  "GVan 
man!"  "Bless  ma  soul!"  "Look  heah  chile!" 
These  people  talked  and  laughed  without  restraint. 
In  fact,  they  talked  straight  from  their  lungs, 
and  laughed  from  the  pits  of  their  stomachs. 
And  this  hearty  laughter  was  often  justified  by 
the  droll  humor  of  some  remark.  I  paused  long 
enough  to  hear  one  man  say  to  another,  "Wat's 
de  mattah  wid  you  an'  yo'  fr'en'  Sam?"  and  the 
other  came  back  like  a  flash,  "Ma  fr'en?  He  ma 
fr'en?  Man!  I'd  go  to  his  funeral  jes  de  same 
as  I'd  go  to  a  minstrel  show."  I  have  since 
learned  that  this  ability  to  laugh  heartily  is,  in 
part,  the  salvation  of  the  American  Negro ;  it  does 
much  to  keep  him  from  going  the  way  of  the 
Indian. 

The  business  places  of  the  street  along  which 
we  were  passing  consisted  chiefly  of  low  bars, 
cheap  dry-goods  and  notion  stores,  barber  shops, 
and  fish  and  bread  restaurants.  We,  at  length, 
turned  down  a  pair  of  stairs  that  led  to  a  base 
ment,  and  I  found  myself  in  an  eating-house  some 
what  better  than  those  I  had  seen  in  passing;  but 
that  did  not  mean  much  for  its  excellence.  The 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  55 

place  was  smoky,  the  tables  were  covered  with  oil 
cloth,  the  floor  covered  with  sawdust,  and  from 
the  kitchen  came  a  rancid  odor  of  fish  fried  over 
several  times,  which  almost  nauseated  me.  I  asked 
my  companion  if  this  were  the  place  where  we  were 
to  eat.  He  informed  me  that  it  was  the  best 
place  in  town  where  a  colored  man  could  get  a 
meal.  I  then  wanted  to  know  why  somebody  didn't 
open  a  place  where  respectable  colored  people  who 
had  money  could  be  accommodated.  He  answered, 
"It  wouldn't  pay ;  all  the  respectable  colored  peo 
ple  eat  at  home,  and  the  few  who  travel  generally 
have  friends  in  the  towns  to  which  they  go,  who 
entertain  them."  He  added,  "Of  course,  you 
could  go  in  any  place  in  the  city;  they  wouldn't 
know  you  from  white." 

I  sat  down  with  the  porter  at  one  of  the  tables, 
but  was  not  hungry  enough  to  eat  with  any  relish 
what  was  put  before  me.  The  food  was  not  badly 
cooked;  but  the  iron  knives  and  forks  needed  to 
be  scrubbed,  the  plates  and  dishes  and  glasses 
needed  to  be  washed  and  well  dried.  I  minced 
over  what  I  took  on  my  plate  while  my  companion 
ate.  When  we  finished  we  paid  the  waiter  twenty 
cents  each  and  went  out.  We  walked  around  un 
til  the  lights  of  the  city  were  lit.  Then  the  porter 
said  that  he  must  get  to  bed  and  have  some  rest, 
as  he  had  not  had  six  hours'  sleep  since  he  left 
Jersey  City.  I  went  back  to  our  lodging-house 
with  him. 


56  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

When  I  awoke  in  the  morning  there  were,  be 
sides  my  new  found  friend,  two  other  men  in  the 
room,  asleep  in  the  double  bed.  I  got  up  and 
dressed  myself  very  quietly,  so  as  not  to  awake 
anyone.  I  then  drew  from  under  the  pillow  my 
precious  roll  of  greenbacks,  took  out  a  ten  dollar 
bill,  and  very  softly  unlocking  my  trunk,  put  the 
remainder,  about  three  hundred  dollars,  in  the  in 
side  pocket  of  a  coat  near  the  bottom ;  glad  of  the 
opportunity  to  put  it  unobserved  in  a  place  of 
safety.  When  I  had  carefully  locked  my  trunk, 
I  tiptoed  toward  the  door  with  the  intention  of 
going  out  to  look  for  a  decent  restaurant  where 
I  might  get  something  fit  to  eat.  As  I  was  easing 
the  door  open,  my  porter  friend  said  with  a  yawn, 
"Hello!  You're  going  out?"  I  answered  him, 
"Yes."  "Oh !"  he  yawned  again,  "I  guess  I've  had 
enough  sleep;  wait  a  minute,  I'll  go  with  you." 
For  the  instant  his  friendship  bored  and  embar 
rassed  me.  I  had  visions  of  another  meal  in  the 
greasy  restaurant  of  the  day  before.  He  must 
have  divined  my  thoughts ;  for  he  went  on  to  say, 
"I  know  a  woman  across  town  who  takes  a  few 
boarders ;  I  think  we  can  go  over  there  and  get  a 
good  breakfast."  With  a  feeling  of  mingled  fears 
and  doubts  regarding  what  the  breakfast  might 
be,  I  waited  until  he  had  dressed  himself. 

When  I  saw  the  neat  appearance  of  the  cottage 
we  entered  my  fears  vanished,  and  when  I  saw  the 
woman  who  kept  it  my  doubts  followed  the  same 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  57 

course.  Scrupulously  clean,  in  a  spotless  white 
apron  and  colored  head  handkerchief,  her  round 
face  beaming  with  motherly  kindness,  she  was  pic 
turesquely  beautiful.  She  impressed  me  as  one 
broad  expanse  of  happiness  and  good  nature.  In 
a  few  minutes  she  was  addressing  me  as  "chile" 
and  "honey."  She  made  me  feel  as  though  I 
should  like  to  lay  my  head  on  her  capacious  bosom 
and  go  to  sleep. 

And  the  breakfast,  simple  as  it  was,  I  could 
not  have  had  at  any  restaurant  in  Atlanta  at  any 
price.  There  was  fried  chicken,  as  it  is  fried  only 
in  the  South,  hominy  boiled  to  the  consistency 
where  it  could  be  eaten  with  a  fork,  and  biscuits 
so  light  and  flaky  that  a  fellow  with  any  appetite 
at  all  would  have  no  difficulty  in  disposing  of 
eight  or  ten.  When  I  had  finished  I  felt  that  I 
had  experienced  the  realization  of,  at  least,  one  of 
my  dreams  of  Southern  life. 

During  the  meal  we  found  out  from  our  host 
ess,  who  had  two  boys  in  school,  that  Atlanta 
University  opened  on  that  very  day.  I  had  some 
how  mixed  my  dates.  My  friend  the  porter  sug 
gested  that  I  go  out  to  the  University  at  once  and 
offered  to  walk  over  and  show  me  the  way.  We 
had  to  walk  because,  although  the  University  was 
not  more  than  twenty  minutes  distance  from  the 
center  of  the  city,  there  were  no  street-cars  run 
ning  in  that  direction.  My  first  sight  of  the 
school  grounds  made  me  feel  that  I  was  not  far 


58  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

from  home ;  here  the  red  hills  had  been  terraced 
and  covered  with  green  grass ;  clean  gravel  walks, 
well  shaded,  lead  up  to  the  buildings ;  indeed,  it 
was  a  bit  of  New  England  transplanted.  At  the 
gate  my  companion  said  he  would  bid  me  good-by, 
because  it  was  likely  that  he  would  not  see  me 
again  before  his  car  went  out.  He  told  me  that 
he  would  make  two  more  trips  to  Atlanta,  and  that 
he  would  come  out  and  see  me ;  that  after  his  sec 
ond  trip  he  would  leave  the  Pullman  service  for 
the  winter  and  return  to  school  in  Nashville.  We 
shook  hands,  I  thanked  him  for  all  his  kindness, 
and  we  said  good-by. 

I  walked  up  to  a  group  of  students  and  made 
some  inquiries.  They  directed  me  to  the  presi 
dent's  office  in  the  main  building.  The  president 
gave  me  a  cordial  welcome;  it  was  more  than 
cordial ;  he  talked  to  me,  not  as  the  official  head  of 
a  college,  but  as  though  he  were  adopting  me  into 
what  was  his  large  family,  to  personally  look 
after  my  general  welfare  as  well  as  my  education. 
He  seemed  especially  pleased  with  the  fact  that  I 
had  come  to  them  all  the  way  from  the  North. 
He  told  me  that  I  could  have  come  to  the  school  as 
soon  as  I  had  reached  the  city,  and  that  I  had 
better  move  my  trunk  out  at  once.  I  gladly 
promised  him  that  I  would  do  so.  He  then  called 
a  boy  and  directed  him  to  take  me  to  the  matron, 
and  to  show  me  around  afterwards.  I  found  the 
matron  even  more  motherly  than  the  president  was 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  59 

fatherly.  She  had  me  to  register,  which  was  in 
effect  to  sign  a  pledge  to  abstain  from  the  use  of 
intoxicating  beverages,  tobacco,  and  profane  lan 
guage,  while  I  was  a  student  in  the  school.  This 
act  caused  me  no  sacrifice;  as,  up  to  that  time,  I 
was  free  from  either  habit.  The  boy  who  was 
with  me  then  showed  me  about  the  grounds.  I 
was  especially  interested  in  the  industrial  building. 
The  sounding  of  a  bell,  he  told  me,  was  the  sig 
nal  for  the  students  to  gather  in  the  general  as 
sembly  hall,  and  he  asked  me  if  I  would  go.  Of 
course  I  would.  There  were  between  three  and 
four  hundred  students  and  perhaps  all  of  the 
teachers  gathered  in  the  room.  I  noticed  that  sev 
eral  of  the  latter  were  colored.  The  president 
gave  a  talk  addressed  principally  to  new  comers ; 
but  I  scarcely  heard  what  he  said,  I  was  so  much 
occupied  in  looking  at  those  around  me.  They 
were  of  all  types  and  colors,  the  more  intelligent 
types  predominating.  The  colors  ranged  from 
jet  black  to  pure  white,  with  light  hair  and  eyes. 
Among  the  girls  especially  there  Vere  many  so 
fair  that  it  was  difficult  to  believe  that  they  had 
Negro  blood  in  them.  And,  too,  I  could  not  help 
but  notice  that  many  of  the  girls,  particularly 
those  of  the  delicate  brown  shades,  with  black  eyes 
and  wavy  dark  hair,  were  decidedly  pretty. 
Among  the  boys,  many  of  the  blackest  were  fine 
specimens  of  young  manhood,  tall,  straight,  and 
muscular,  with  magnificent  heads;  these  were  the 


60  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

kind  of  boys  who  developed  into  the  patriarchal 
"uncles"  of  the  old  slave  regime. 

When  I  left  the  University  it  was  with  the  de 
termination  to  get  my  trunk,  and  move  out  to  the 
school  before  night.  I  walked  back  across  the  city 
with  a  light  step  and  a  light  heart.  I  felt  per 
fectly  satisfied  with  life  for  the  first  time  since  my 
mother's  death.  In  passing  the  railroad  station 
I  hired  a  wagon  and  rode  with  the  driver  as  far  as 
my  stopping  place.  I  settled  with  my  landlord 
and  went  upstairs  to  put  away  several  articles  I 
had  left  out.  As  soon  as  I  opened  my  trunk  a 
dart  of  suspicion  shot  through  my  heart ;  the  ar 
rangement  of  things  did  not  look  familiar.  I  be 
gan  to  dig  down  excitedly  to  the  bottom  till  I 
reached  the  coat  in  which  I  had  concealed  my 
treasure.  My  money  was  gone!  Every  single 
bill  of  it.  I  knew  it  was  useless  to  do  so,  but  I 
searched  through  every  other  coat,  every  pair  of 
trousers,  every  vest,  and  even  into  each  pair  of 
socks.  When  I  had  finished  my  fruitless  search 
I  sat  down  dazed  and  heartsick.  I  called  the 
landlord  up,  and  informed  him  of  my  loss ;  he  com 
forted  me  by  saying  that  I  ought  to  have  better 
sense  than  to  keep  money  in  a  trunk,  and  that  he 
was  not  responsible  for  his  lodgers'  personal  ef 
fects.  His  cooling  words  brought  me  enough  to 
my  senses  to  cause  me  to  look  and  see  if  anything 
else  was  missing.  Several  small  articles  were 
gone,  among  them  a  black  and  gray  necktie  of 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  61 

odd  design  upon  which  my  heart  was  set;  almost 
as  much  as  the  loss  of  my  money,  I  felt  the  loss  of 
my  tie. 

After  thinking  for  awhile  as  best  I  could,  I 
wisely  decided  to  go  at  once  back  to  the  University 
and  lay  my  troubles  before  the  president.  I 
rushed  breathlessly  back  to  the  school.  As  I 
neared  the  grounds  the  thought  came  across  me, 
would  not  my  story  sound  fishy?  Would  it  not 
place  me  in  the  position  of  an  impostor  or  beggar? 
What  right  had  I  to  worry  these  busy  people  with 
the  results  of  my  carelessness?  If  the  money 
could  not  be  recovered,  and  I  doubted  that  it 
could,  what  good  would  it  do  to  tell  them  about  it. 
The  shame  and  embarrassment  which  the  whole 
situation  gave  me  caused  me  to  stop  at  the  gate. 
I  paused,  undecided,  for  a  moment;  then  turned 
and  slowly  retraced  my  steps,  and  so  changed  the 
whole  course  of  my  life. 

If  the  reader  has  never  been  in  a  strange  city 
without  money  or  friends,  it  is  useless  to  try  to 
describe  what  my  feelings  were;  he  could  not  un 
derstand.  If  he  has  been,  it  is  equally  useless,  for 
he  understands  more  than  words  could  convey. 
When  I  reached  my  lodgings  I  found  in  the  room 
one  of  the  porters  who  had  slept  there  the  night 
before.  When  he  heard  what  misfortune  had  be 
fallen  me  he  offered  many  words  of  sympathy  and 
advice.  He  asked  me  how  much  money  I  had  left, 
I  told  him  that  I  had  ten  or  twelve  dollars  in  my 


62  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

pocket.  He  said,  "That  won't  last  you  very  long 
here,  and  you  will  hardly  be  able  to  find  anything 
to  do  in  Atlanta.  I'll  tell  you  what  you  do,  go 
down  to  Jacksonville  and  you  won't  have  any 
trouble  to  get  a  job  in  one  of  the  big  hotels  there, 
or  in  St.  Augustine."  I  thanked  him,  but  in 
timated  my  doubts  of  being  able  to  get  to  Jack 
sonville  on  the  money  I  had.  He  reassured  me  by 
saying,  "Oh,  that's  all  right.  You  express  your 
trunk  on  through,  and  I'll  take  you  down  in  my 
closet."  I  thanked  him  again,  not  knowing  then, 
what  it  was  to  travel  in  a  Pullman  porter's  closet. 
He  put  me  under  a  deeper  debt  of  gratitude  by 
lending  me  fifteen  dollars,  which  he  said  I  could 
pay  back  after  I  had  secured  work.  His  gener 
osity  brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  and  I  concluded 
that,  after  all,  there  were  some  kind  hearts  in  the 
world. 

I  now  forgot  my  troubles  in  the  hurry  and  ex 
citement  of  getting  my  trunk  off  in  time  to  catch 
the  train,  which  went  out  at  seven  o'clock.  I 
even  forgot  that  I  hadn't  eaten  anything  since 
morning.  We  got  a  wagon — the  porter  went  with 
me — and  took  my  trunk  to  the  express  office.  My 
new  friend  then  told  me  to  come  to  the  station  at 
about  a  quarter  of  seven,  and  walk  straight  to  the 
car  where  I  should  see  him  standing,  and  not  to 
lose  my  nerve.  I  found  my  role  not  so  difficult  to 
play  as  I  thought  it  would  be,  because  the  train 
did  not  leave  from  the  central  station,  but  from  a 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  63 

smaller  one,  where  there  were  no  gates  and  guards 
to  pass.  I  followed  directions,  and  the  porter 
took  me  on  his  car,  and  locked  me  in  his  closet. 
In  a  few  minutes  the  train  pulled  out  for  Jackson 
ville. 

I  may  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old.  but  I 
shall  never  forget  the  agonies  I  suffered  that 
night.  I  spent  twelve  hours  doubled  up  in  the 
porter's  basket  for  soiled  linen,  not  being  able  to 
straighten  up  on  account  of  the  shelves  for  clean 
linen  just  over  my  head.  The  air  was  hot  and 
suffocating  and  the  smell  of  damp  towels  and  used 
linen  was  sickening.  At  each  lurch  of  the  car 
over  the  none  too  smooth  track,  I  was  bumped  and 
bruised  against  the  narrow  walls  of  my  narrow 
compartment.  I  became  acutely  conscious  of  the 
fact  that  I  had  not  eaten  for  hours.  Then  nausea 
took  possession  of  me,  and  at  one  time  I  had  grave 
doubts  about  reaching  my  destination  alive.  If  I 
had  the  trip  to  make  again,  I  should  prefer  to 
walk. 


CHAPTER  V 

The  next  morning  I  got  out  of  the  car  at  Jack 
sonville  with  a  stiff  and  aching  body.  I  deter 
mined  to  ask  no  more  porters,  not  even  my  bene 
factor,  about  stopping  places;  so  I  found  myself 
on  the  street  not  knowing  where  to  go.  I  walked 
along  listlessly  until  I  met  a  colored  man  who  had 
the  appearance  of  a  preacher.  I  asked  him  if  he 
could  direct  me  to  a  respectable  boarding-house 
for  colored  people.  He  said  that  if  I  walked  along 
with  him  in  the  direction  he  was  going  he  would 
show  me  such  a  place.  I  turned  and  walked  at 
his  side.  He  proved  to  be  a  minister,  and  asked  me 
a  great  many  direct  questions  about  myself.  I  an 
swered  as  many  as  I  saw  fit  to  answer;  the  others 
I  evaded  or  ignored.  At  length  we  stopped  in 
front  of  a  frame  house,  and  my  guide  informed  me 
that  it  was  the  place.  A  woman  was  standing  in 
the  doorway,  and  he  called  to  her  saying  that  he 
had  brought  her  a  new  boarder.  I  thanked  him 
for  his  trouble,  and  after  he  had  urged  upon  me 
to  attend  his  church  while  I  was  in  the  city,  he 
went  on  his  way. 

I  went  in  and  found  the  house  neat  and  not 
uncomfortable.  The  parlor  was  furnished  with 

64 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  65 

Cane-bottomed  chairs,  each  of  which  was  adorned 
with  a  white  crocheted  tidy.  The  mantel  over  the 
fireplace  had  a  white  crocheted  cover;  a  marble- 
topped  center  table  held  a  lamp,  a  photograph 
album  and  several  trinkets,  each  of  which  was  set 
upon  a  white  crocheted  mat.  There  was  a  cottage 
organ  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  and  I  noted  that 
the  lamp-racks  upon  it  were  covered  with  white 
crocheted  mats.  There  was  a  matting  on  the 
floor,  but  a  white  crocheted  carpet  would  not  have 
been  out  of  keeping.  I  made  arrangements  with 
the  landlady  for  my  board  and  lodging;  the 
amount  was,  I  think,  three  dollars  and  a  half  a 
week.  She  was  a  rather  fine  looking,  stout,  brown- 
skinned  woman  of  about  forty  years  of  age.  Her 
husband  was  a  light  colored  Cuban,  a  man  about 
one  half  her  size,  and  one  whose  age  could  not  be 
guessed  from  his  appearance.  He  was  small  in 
size,  but  a  handsome  black  mustache  and  typical 
Spanish  eyes  redeemed  him  from  insignificance. 

I  was  in  time  for  breakfast,  and  at  the  table 
I  had  the  opportunity  to  see  my  fellow-boarders. 
There  were  eight  or  ten  of  them.  Two,  as  I  af 
terwards  learned,  were  colored  Americans.  All  of 
them  were  cigar  makers  and  worked  in  one  of  the 
large  factories — cigar  making  is  the  one  trade 
in  which  the  color-line  is  not  drawn.  The  conver 
sation  was  carried  on  entirely  in  Spanish,  and  my 
ignorance  of  the  language  subjected  me  more  to 
alarm  than  embarrassment.  I  had  never  heard 


66  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

such  uproarious  conversation ;  everybody  talked  at 
once,  loud  exclamations,  rolling  "carambas," 
menacing  gesticulations  with  knives,  forks,  and 
spoons.  I  looked  every  moment  for  the  clash  of 
blows.  One  man  was  emphasizing  his  remarks  by 
flourishing  a  cup  in  his  hand,  seemingly  forgetful 
of  the  fact  that  it  was  nearly  full  of  hot  coffee. 
He  ended  by  emptying  it  over  what  was,  relatively, 
the  only  quiet  man  at  the  table  excepting  myself, 
bringing  from  him  a  volley  of  language  which 
made  the  others  appear  dumb  by  comparison.  I 
soon  learned  that  in  all  of  this  clatter  of  voices 
and  table  utensils  they  were  discussing  purely 
ordinary  affairs  and  arguing  about  mere  trifles, 
and  that  not  the  least  ill-feeling  was  aroused.  It 
was  not  long  before  I  enjoyed  the  spirited  chatter 
and  badinage  at  the  table  as  much  as  I  did  my 
meals, — and  the  meals  were  not  bad. 

I  spent  the  afternoon  in  looking  around  the 
town.  The  streets  were  sandy,  but  were  well 
shaded  by  fine  oak  trees,  and  far  preferable  to  the 
clay  roads  of  Atlanta.  One  or  two  public  squares 
with  green  grass  and  trees  gave  the  city  a  touch 
of  freshness.  That  night  after  supper  I  spoke  to 
my  landlady  and  her  husband  about  my  intentions. 
They  told  me  that  the  big  winter  hotels  would  not 
open  within  two  months.  It  can  easily  be  imag 
ined  what  effect  this  news  had  on  me.  I  spoke  to 
them  frankly  about  my  financial  condition  and  re 
lated  the  main  fact  of  my  misfortune  in  Atlanta. 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  67 

I  modestly  mentioned  my  ability  to  teach  music 
and  asked  if  there  was  any  likelihood  of  my  being 
able  to  get  some  scholars.  My  landlady  sug 
gested  that  I  speak  to  the  preacher  who  had  shown 
me  her  house;  she  felt  sure  that  through  his  in 
fluence  I  should  be  able  to  get  up  a  class  in  piano. 
She  added,  however,  that  the  colored  people  were 
poor,  and  that  the  general  price  for  music  lessons 
was  only  twenty-five  cents.  I  noticed  that  the 
thought  of  my  teaching  white  pupils  did  not  even 
remotely  enter  her  mind.  None  of  this  informa 
tion  made  my  prospects  look  much  brighter. 

The  husband,  who  up  to  this  time  had  allowed 
the  woman  to  do  most  of  the  talking,  gave  me  the 
first  bit  of  tangible  hope ;  he  said  that  he  could  get 
me  a  job  as  a  "stripper"  in  the  factory  where  he 
worked,  and  that  if  I  succeeded  in  getting  some 
music  pupils  I  could  teach  a  couple  of  them  every 
night,  and  so  make  a  living  until  something  better 
turned  up.  He  went  on  to  say  that  it  would  not 
be  a  bad  thing  for  me  to  stay  at  the  factory  and 
learn  my  trade  as  a  cigar  maker,  and  impressed 
on  me  that,  for  a  young  man  knocking  about  the 
country,  a  trade  was  a  handy  thing  to  have.  I 
determined  to  accept  his  offer  and  thanked  him 
heartily.  In  fact,  I  became  enthusiastic,  not 
only  because  I  saw  a  way  out  of  my  financial 
troubles,  but  also  because  I  was  eager  and  curious 
over  the  new  experience  I  was  about  to  enter.  I 
wanted  to  know  all  about  the  cigar  making  busi- 


68  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

ness.  This  narrowed  the  conversation  down  to  the 
husband  and  myself,  so  the  wife  went  in  and  left 
us  talking. 

He  was  what  is  called  a  regalia  workman,  and 
earned  from  thirty-five  to  forty  dollars  a  week. 
He  generally  worked  a  sixty  dollar  job;  that  is, 
he  made  cigars  for  which  he  was  paid  at  the  rate 
of  sixty  dollars  per  thousand.  It  was  impossible 
for  him  to  make  a  thousand  in  a  week  because  he 
had  to  work  very  carefully  and  slowly.  Each 
cigar  was  made  entirely  by  hand.  Each  piece  of 
filler  and  each  wrapper  had  to  be  selected  with 
care.  He  was  able  to  make  a  bundle  of  one  hun 
dred  cigars  in  a  day,  not  one  of  which  could  be 
told  from  the  others  by  any  difference  in  size  or 
shape,  or  even  by  any  appreciable  difference  in 
weight.  This  was  the  acme  of  artistic  skill  in 
cigar  making.  Workmen  of  this  class  were  rare, 
never  more  than  three  or  four  of  them  in  one 
factory,  and  it  was  never  necessary  for  them  to 
remain  out  of  work.  There  were  men  who  made 
two,  three,  and  four  hundred  cigars  of  the  cheaper 
grades  in  a  day ;  they  had  to  be  very  fast  in  order 
to  make  decent  week's  wages.  Cigar  making  was 
a  rather  independent  trade ;  the  men  went  to  work 
when  they  pleased  and  knocked  off  when  they  felt 
like  doing  so.  As  a  class  the  workmen  were  care 
less  and  improvident;  some  very  rapid  makers 
would  not  work  more  than  three  or  four  days  out 
of  the  week,  and  there  were  others  who  never 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  69 

showed  up  at  the  factory  on  Mondays.  "Strip 
pers"  were  the  boys  who  pulled  the  long  stems  from 
the  tobacco  leaves.  After  they  had  served  at  that 
work  for  a  certain  time  they  were  given  tables  as 
apprentices. 

All  of  this  was  interesting  to  me ;  and  we  drifted 
along  in  conversation  until  my  companion  struck 
the  subject  nearest  his  heart,  the  independence  of 
Cuba.  He  was  an  exile  from  the  island,  and  a 
prominent  member  of  the  Jacksonville  Junta. 
Every  week  sums  of  money  were  collected  from 
juntas  all  over  the  country.  This  money  went  to 
buy  arms  and  ammunition  for  the  insurgents.  As 
the  man  sat  there  nervously  smoking  his  long, 
"green"  cigar,  and  telling  me  of  the  Gomezes,  both 
the  white  one  and  the  black  one,  of  Maceo  and 
Bandera,  he  grew  positively  eloquent.  He  also 
showed  that  he  was  a  man  of  considerable  educa 
tion  and  reading.  He  spoke  English  excellently, 
and  frequently  surprised  me  by  using  words  one 
would  hardly  expect  from  a  foreigner.  The  first 
one  of  this  class  of  words  he  employed  almost 
shocked  me,  and  I  never  forgot  it,  'twas  "ramify." 
We  sat  on  the  piazza  until  after  ten  o'clock.  When 
we  arose  to  go  in  to  bed  it  was  with  the  under 
standing  that  I  should  start  in  the  factory  on  the 
next  day. 

I  began  work  the  next  morning  seated  at  a  bar 
rel  with  another  boy,  who  showed  me  how  to  strip 
the  stems  from  the  leaves,  to  smooth  out  each  half 


70  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

leaf,  and  to  put  the  "rights"  together  in  one  pile, 
and  the  "lefts"  together  in  another  pile  on  the  edge 
of  the  barrel.  My  fingers,  strong  and  sensitive 
from  their  long  training,  were  well  adapted  to  this 
kind  of  work ;  and  within  two  weeks  I  was  ac 
counted  the  fastest  "stripper"  in  the  factory.  At 
first  the  heavy  odor  of  the  tobacco  almost  sickened 
me ;  but  when  I  became  accustomed  to  it  I  liked  the 
smell.  I  was  now  earning  four  dollars  a  week, 
and  was  soon  able  to  pick  up  a  couple  more  by 
teaching  a  few  scholars  at  night,  whom  I  had  se 
cured  through  the  good  offices  of  the  preacher  I 
had  met  on  my  first  morning  in  Jacksonville. 

At  the  end  of  about  three  months,  through  my 
skill  as  a  "stripper"  and  the  influence  of  my  land 
lord,  I  was  advanced  to  a  table,  and  began  to  learn 
my  trade;  in  fact,  more  than  my  trade;  for  I 
learned  not  only  to  make  cigars,  but  also  to  smoke, 
to  swear,  and  to  speak  Spanish.  I  discovered  that 
I  had  a  talent  for  languages  as  well  as  for  music. 
The  rapidity  and  ease  with  which  I  acquired  Span 
ish  astonished  my  associates.  In  a  short  time  I 
was  able  not  only  to  understand  most  of  what  was 
said  at  the  table  during  meals,  but  to  join  in  the 
conversation.  I  bought  a  method  for  learning  the 
Spanish  language,  and  with  the  aid  of  my  land 
lord  as  a  teacher,  by  constant  practice  with  my 
fellow  workmen,  and  by  regularly  reading  the  Cu 
ban  newspapers,  and  finally  some  books  of  stand 
ard  Spanish  literature  which  were  at  the  house,  I 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  71 

was  able  in  less  than  a  year  to  speak  like  a  native. 
In  fact,  it  was  my  pride  that  I  spoke  better  Span 
ish  than  many  of  the  Cuban  workmen  at  the  fac 
tory. 

After  I  had  been  in  the  factory  a  little  over  a 
year,  I  was  repaid  for  all  the  effort  I  had  put  forth 
to  learn  Spanish  by  being  selected  as  "reader." 
The  "reader"  is  quite  an  institution  in  all  cigar 
factories  which  employ  Spanish-speaking  workmen. 
He  sits  in  the  center  of  the  large  room  in  which  the 
cigar  makers  work  and  reads  to  them  for  a  cer 
tain  number  of  hours  each  day  all  the  important 
news  from  the  papers  and  whatever  else  he  may 
consider  would  be  interesting.  He  often  selects 
an  exciting  novel,  and  reads  it  in  daily  installments. 
He  must,  of  course,  have  a  good  voice,  but  he 
must  also  have  a  reputation  among  the  men  for 
intelligence,  for  being  well  posted  and  having  in 
his  head  a  stock  of  varied  information.  He  is 
generally  the  final  authority  on  all  arguments 
which  arise;  and,  in  a  cigar  factory,  these  argu 
ments  are  many  and  frequent,  ranging  from  dis 
cussions  on  the  respective  and  relative  merits  of 
rival  baseball  clubs  to  the  duration  of  the  sun's 
light  and  energy — cigar-making  is  a  trade  in  which 
talk  does  not  interfere  with  work.  My  position 
as  "reader"  not  only  released  me  from  the  rather 
monotonous  work  of  rolling  cigars,  and  gave  me 
something  more  in  accord  with  my  tastes,  but  also 
added  considerably  to  my  income.  I  was  now  earn- 


72  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

ing  about  twenty-five  dollars  a  week,  and  was  able 
to  give  up  my  peripatetic  method  of  giving  music 
lessons.  I  hired  a  piano  and  taught  only  those 
who  could  arrange  to  take  their  lessons  where  I 
lived.  I  finally  gave  up  teaching  entirely ;  as  what 
I  made  scarcely  paid  for  my  time  and  trouble.  I 
kept  the  piano,  however,  in  order  to  keep  up  my 
own  studies,  and  occasionally  I  played  at  some 
church  concert  or  other  charitable  entertainment. 

Through  my  music  teaching  and  my  not  abso 
lutely  irregular  attendance  at  church  I  became  ac 
quainted  with  the  best  class  of  colored  people  in 
Jacksonville.  This  was  really  my  entrance  into 
the  race.  It  was  my  initiation  into  what  I  have 
termed  the  freemasonry  of  the  race.  I  had  formu 
lated  a  theory  of  what  it  was  to  be  colored,  now 
I  was  getting  the  practice.  The  novelty  of  my  po 
sition  caused  me  to  observe  and  consider  things 
which,  I  think,  entirely  escaped  the  young  men  I 
associated  with ;  or,  at  least,  were  so  common 
place  to  them  as  not  to  attract  their  attention. 
And  of  many  of  the  impressions  which  came  to  me 
then  I  have  realized  the  full  import  only  within 
the  past  few  years,  since  I  have  had  a  broader 
knowledge  of  men  and  history,  and  a  fuller  com 
prehension  of  the  tremendous  struggle  which  is 
going  on  between  the  races  in  the  South. 

It  is  a  struggle ;  for  though  the  black  man  fights 
passively  he  nevertheless  fights ;  and  his  passive 
resistance  is  more  effective  at  present  than  active 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  73 

resistance  could  possibly  be.  He  bears  the  fury  of 
the  storm  as  does  the  willow  tree. 

It  is  a  struggle;  for  though  the  white  man  of 
the  South  may  be  too  proud  to  admit  it,  he  is, 
nevertheless,  using  in  the  contest  his  best  energies ; 
he  is  devoting  to  it  the  greater  part  of  his  thought 
and  much  of  his  endeavor.  The  South  to-day 
stands  panting  and  almost  breathless  from  its  ex 
ertions. 

And  how  the  scene  of  the  struggle  has  shifted! 
The  battle  was  first  waged  over  the  right  of  the 
Negro  to  be  classed  as  a  human  being  with  a  soul ; 
later,  as  to  whether  he  had  sufficient  intellect  to 
master  even  the  rudiments  of  learning ;  and  to-day 
it  is  being  fought  out  over  his  social  recognition. 

I  said  somewhere  in  the  early  part  of  this  nar 
rative  that  because  the  colored  man  looked  at  every 
thing  through  the  prism  of  his  relationship  to 
society  as  a  colored  man,  and  because  most  of  his 
mental  efforts  ran  through  the  narrow  channel 
bounded  by  his  rights  and  his  wrongs,  it  was  to 
be  wondered  at  that  he  has  progressed  so  broadly 
as  he  has.  The  same  thing  may  be  said  of  the 
white  man  of  the  South ;  most  of  his  mental  ef 
forts  run  through  one  narrow  channel ;  his  life 
as  a  man  and  a  citizen,  many  of  his  financial  ac 
tivities  and  all  of  his  political  activities  are  im 
passably  limited  by  the  ever  present  "Negro  ques 
tion."  I  am  sure  it  would  be  safe  to  wager  that 
no  group  of  Southern  white  men  could  get  to- 


74  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

gether  and  talk  for  sixty  minutes  without  bring 
ing  up  the  "race  question."  If  a  Northern  white 
man  happened  to  be  in  the  group  the  time  could 
be  safely  cut  to  thirty  minutes.  In  this  respect 
I  consider  the  condition  of  the  whites  more  to  be 
deplored  than  that  of  the  blacks.  Here,  a  truly 
great  people,  a  people  that  produced  a  majority 
of  the  great  historic  Americans  from  Washington 
to  Lincoln  now  forced  to  use  up  its  energies  in 
a  conflict  as  lamentable  as  it  is  violent. 

I  shall  give  the  observations  I  made  in  Jackson 
ville  as  seen  through  the  light  of  after  years ;  and 
they  apply  generally  to  every  Southern  commu 
nity.  The  colored  people  may  be  said  to  be 
roughly  divided  into  three  classes,  not  so  much 
in  respect  to  themselves  as  in  respect  to  their  rela 
tions  with  the  whites.  There  are  those  constitut 
ing  what  might  be  called  the  desperate  class, — the 
men  who  work  in  the  lumber  and  turpentine  camps, 
the  ex-convicts,  the  bar-room  loafers  are  all  in 
this  class.  These  men  conform  to  the  require 
ments  of  civilization  much  as  a  trained  lion  with 
low  muttered  growls  goes  through  his  stunts  under 
the  crack  of  the  trainer's  whip.  They  cherish  a 
sullen  hatred  for  all  white  men,  and  they  value  life 
as  cheap.  I  have  heard  more  than  one  of  them 
say,  "I'll  go  to  hell  for  the  first  white  man  that 
bothers  me."  Many  who  have  expressed  that 
sentiment  have  kept  their  word ;  and  it  is  that  fact 
which  gives  such  prominence  to  this  class;  for  in 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  75 

numbers  it  is  but  a  small  proportion  of  the  colored 
people,  but  it  often  dominates  public  opinion  con 
cerning  the  whole  race.  Happily,  this  class  rep 
resents  the  black  people  of  the  South  far  below 
their  normal  physical  and  moral  condition,  but  in 
its  increase  lies  the  possibility  of  grave  dangers. 
I  am  sure  there  is  no  more  urgent  work  before  the 
white  South,  not  only  for  its  present  happiness, 
but  its  future  safety,  than  the  decreasing  of  this 
class  of  blacks.  And  it  is  not  at  all  a  hopeless 
class;  for  these  men  are  but  the  creatures  of  con 
ditions,  as  much  so  as  the  slum  and  criminal  ele 
ments  of  all  the  great  cities  of  the  world  are 
creatures  of  conditions.  Decreasing  their  number 
by  shooting  and  burning  them  off  will  not  be  suc 
cessful;  for  these  men  are  truly  desperate,  and 
thoughts  of  death,  however  terrible,  have  little  ef 
fect  in  deterring  them  from  acts  the  result  of  ha 
tred  or  degeneracy.  This  class  of  blacks  hate 
everything  covered  by  a  white  skin,  and  in  return 
they  are  loathed  by  the  whites.  The  whites  regard 
them  just  about  as  a  man  would  a  vicious  mule,  a 
thing  to  be  worked,  driven  and  beaten,  and  killed 
for  kicking. 

The  second  class,  as  regards  the  relation  be 
tween  blacks  and  whites,  comprises  the  servants, 
the  washer-women,  the  waiters,  the  cooks,  the 
coachmen,  and  all  who  are  connected  with  the 
whites  by  domestic  service.  These  may  be  gen 
erally  characterized  as  simple,  kindhearted  and 


76  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

faithful;  not  over  fine  in  their  moral  deductions, 
but  intensely  religious,  and  relatively, — such  mat 
ters  can  be  judged  only  relatively, — about  as  hon 
est  and  wholesome  in  their  lives  as  any  other  grade 
of  society.  Any  white  person  is  "good"  who  treats 
them  kindly,  and  they  love  them  for  that  kindness. 
In  return,  the  white  people  with  whom  they  have  to 
do  regard  them  with  indulgent  affection.  They 
come  into  close  daily  contact  with  the  whites,  and 
may  be  called  the  connecting  link  between  whites 
and  blacks ;  in  fact,  it  is  through  them  that  the 
whites  know  the  rest  of  their  colored  neighbors. 
Between  this  class  of  the  blacks  and  the  whites 
there  is  little  or  no  friction. 

The  third  class  is  composed  of  the  independent 
workmen  and  tradesmen,  and  of  the  well-to-do  and 
educated  colored  people ;  and,  strange  to  say,  for 
a  directly  opposite  reason  they  are  as  far  removed 
from  the  whites  as  the  members  of  the  first  class 
I  mentioned.  These  people  live  in  a  little  world 
of  their  own ;  in  fact,  I  concluded  that  if  a  colored 
man  wanted  to  separate  himself  from  his  white 
neighbors  he  had  but  to  acquire  some  money,  edu 
cation  and  culture,  and  to  live  in  accordance.  For 
example,  the  proudest  and  fairest  lady  in  the  South 
could  with  propriety — and  it  is  what  she  would 
most  likely  do — go  to  the  cabin  of  Aunt  Mary,  her 
cook,  if  Aunt  Mary  were  sick,  and  minister  to  her 
comfort  with  her  own  hands ;  but  if  Mary's  daugh 
ter,  Eliza,  a  girl  who  used  to  run  around  my  lady's 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  77 

kitchen,  but  who  has  received  an  education  and 
married  a  prosperous  young  colored  man,  were  at 
death's  door,  my  lady  would  no  more  think  of 
crossing  the  threshold  of  Eliza's  cottage  than  she 
would  of  going  into  a  bar-room  for  a  drink. 

I  was  walking  down  the  street  one  day  with  a 
young  man  who  was  born  in  Jacksonville,  but  had 
been  away  to  prepare  himself  for  a  professional 
life.  We  passed  a  young  white  man,  and  my  com 
panion  said  to  me,  "You  see  that  young  man? 
We  grew  up  together,  we  have  played,  hunted,  and 
fished  together,  we  have  even  eaten  and  slept  to 
gether,  and  now  since  I  have  come  back  home  he 
barely  speaks  to  me."  The  fact  that  the  whites 
of  the  South  despise  and  ill-treat  the  desperate 
class  of  blacks  is  not  only  explainable  according 
to  the  ancient  laws  of  human  nature,  but  it  is 
not  nearly  so  serious  or  important  as  the  fact  that 
as  the  progressive  colored  people  advance  they  con 
stantly  widen  the  gulf  between  themselves  and  their 
white  neighbors.  I  think  that  the  white  people 
somehow  feel  that  colored  people  who  have  educa 
tion  and  money,  who  wear  good  clothes  and  live  in 
comfortable  houses,  are  "putting  on  airs,"  that 
they  do  these  things  for  the  sole  purpose  of  "spit 
ing  the  white  folks,"  or  are,  at  best,  going  through 
a  sort  of  monkey-like  imitation.  Of  course,  such 
feelings  can  only  cause  irritation  or  breed  disgust. 
It  seems  that  the  whites  have  not  yet  been  able  to 
realize  and  understand  that  these  people  in  striv- 


78  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

ing  to  better  their  physical  and  social  surround 
ings  in  accordance  with  their  financial  and  intel 
lectual  progress  are  simply  obeying  an  impulse 
which  is  common  to  human  nature  the  world  over. 
I  am  in  grave  doubt  as  to  whether  the  greater  part 
of  the  friction  in  the  South  is  caused  by  the  whites 
having  a  natural  antipathy  to  Negroes  as  a  race, 
or  an  acquired  antipathy  to  Negroes  in  certain  re 
lations  to  themselves.  However  that  may  be,  there 
is  to  my  mind  no  more  pathetic  side  of  this  many 
sided  question  than  the  isolated  position  into  which 
are  forced  the  very  colored  people  who  most  need 
and  who  could  best  appreciate  sympathetic  coop 
eration  ;  and  their  position  grows  tragic  when  the 
effort  is  made  to  couple  them,  whether  or  no, 
with  the  Negroes  of  the  first  class  I  mentioned. 
This  latter  class  of  colored  people  are  well  dis 
posed  towards  the  whites,  and  always  willing  to 
meet  them  more  than  half  way.  They,  however, 
feel  keenly  any  injustice  or  gross  discrimination, 
and  generally  show  their  resentment.  The  effort  is 
sometimes  made  to  convey  the  impression  that  the 
better  class  of  colored  people  fight  against  riding 
in  "jim  crow"  cars  because  they  want  to  ride  with 
white  people  or  object  to  being  with  humbler  mem 
bers  of  their  own  race.  The  truth  is  they  object 
to  the  humiliation  of  being  forced  to  ride  in  a 
particular  car,  aside  from  the  fact  that  that  car  is 
distinctly  inferior,  and  that  they  are  required  to 
pay  full  first-class  fare.  To  say  that  the  whites 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  79 

are  forced  to  ride  in  the  superior  car  is  less  than  a 
joke.  And,  too,  odd  as  it  may  sound,  refined  col 
ored  people  get  no  more  pleasure  out  of  riding  with 
offensive  Negroes  than  anybody  else  would  get. 

I  can  realize  more  fully  than  I  could  years  ago 
that  the  position  of  the  advanced  element  of  the 
colored  race  is  often  very  trying.  They  are  the 
ones  among  the  blacks  who  carry  the  entire  weight 
of  the  race  question;  it  worries  the  others  very 
little,  and  I  believe  the  only  thing  which  at  times 
sustains  them  is  that  they  know  that  they  are  in 
the  right.  On  the  other  hand,  this  class  of  colored 
people  get  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  out  of  life; 
their  existence  is  far  from  being  one  long  groan 
about  their  condition.  Out  of  a  chaos  of  ignorance 
and  poverty  they  have  evolved  a  social  life  of  which 
they  need  not  be  ashamed.  In  cities  where  the 
professional  and  well-to-do  class  is  large,  they  have 
formed  society, — society  as  discriminating  as  the 
actual  conditions  will  allow  it  to  be;  I  should  say, 
perhaps,  society  possessing  discriminating  tenden 
cies  which  become  rules  as  fast  as  actual  conditions 
allow.  This  statement  will,  I  know,  sound  pre 
posterous,  even  ridiculous,  to  some  persons ;  but  as 
this  class  of  colored  people  is  the  least  known  of 
the  race  it  is  not  surprising.  These  social  circles 
are  connected  throughout  the  country,  and  a  per 
son  in  good  standing  in  one  city  is  readily  ac 
cepted  in  another.  One  who  is  on  the  outside  will 
often  find  it  a  difficult  matter  to  get  in.  I  know 


80  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

of  one  case  personally  in  which  money  to  the  ex 
tent  of  thirty  or  forty  thousand  dollars  and  a  fine 
house,  not  backed  up  by  a  good  reputation,  after 
several  years  of  repeated  effort,  failed  to  gain  en 
try  for  the  possessor.  These  people  have  their 
dances  and  dinners  and  card  parties,  their  musicals 
and  their  literary  societies.  The  women  attend 
social  affairs  dressed  in  good  taste,  and  the  men 
in  evening  dress-suits  which  they  own;  and  the 
reader  will  make  a  mistake  to  confound  these  en 
tertainments  with  the  "Bellman's  Balls"  and 
"Whitewashes'  Picnics"  and  "Lime  Kiln  Clubs" 
with  which  the  humorous  press  of  the  country  il 
lustrates  "Cullud  Sassiety." 

Jacksonville,  when  I  was  there,  was  a  small  town, 
and  the  number  of  educated  and  well-to-do  col 
ored  people  was  few;  so  this  society  phase  of  life 
did  not  equal  what  I  have  since  seen  in  Boston, 
Washington,  Richmond,  and  Nashville;  and  it  is 
upon  what  I  have  more  recently  seen  in  these  cities 
that  I  have  made  the  observations  just  above. 
However,  there  were  many  comfortable  and  pleas 
ant  homes  in  Jacksonville  to  which  I  was  often  in 
vited.  I  belonged  to  the  literary  society — at 
which  we  generally  discussed  the  race  question — 
and  attended  all  of  the  church  festivals  and  other 
charitable  entertainments.  In  this  way  I  passed 
three  years  which  were  not  at  all  the  least  enjoy 
able  of  my  life.  In  fact,  my  joy  took  such  an  ex 
uberant  turn  that  I  fell  in  love  with  a  young  school 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  81 

teacher  and  began  to  have  dreams  of  matrimonial 
bliss ;  but  another  turn  in  the  course  of  my  life 
brought  these  dreams  to  an  end. 

I  do  not  wish  to  mislead  my  readers  into  think 
ing  that  I  led  a  life  in  Jacksonville  which  would 
make  copy  as  the  hero  of  a  Sunday  School  library 
book.  I  was  a  hale  fellow  well  met  with  all  of  the 
workmen  at  the  factory,  most  of  whom  knew  little 
and  cared  less  about  social  distinctions.  From 
their  example  I  learned  to  be  careless  about  money ; 
and  for  that  reason  I  constantly  postponed  and 
finally  abandoned  returning  to  Atlanta  University. 
It  seemed  impossible  for  me  to  save  as  much  as 
two  hundred  dollars.  Several  of  the  men  at  the 
factory  were  my  intimate  friends,  and  I  frequently 
joined  them  in  their  pleasures.  During  the  sum 
mer  months  we  went  almost  every  Monday  on  an 
excursion  to  a  seaside  resort  called  Pablo  Beach. 
These  excursions  were  always  crowded.  There  was 
a  dancing  pavilion,  a  great  deal  of  drinking  and 
generally  a  fight  or  two  to  add  to  the  excitement. 
I  also  contracted  the  cigar-maker's  habit  of  rid 
ing  around  in  a  hack  on  Sunday  afternoons.  I 
sometimes  went  with  my  cigar-maker  friends  to 
public  balls  that  were  given  at  a  large  hall  on 
one  of  the  main  streets.  I  learned  to  take  a  drink 
occasionally  and  paid  for  quite  a  number  that  my 
friends  took ;  but  strong  liquors  never  appealed  to 
my  appetite.  I  drank  them  only  when  the  com 
pany  I  was  in  required  it,  and  suffered  for  it 


82  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

afterwards.  On  the  whole,  though  I  was  a  bit 
wild,  I  can't  remember  that  I  ever  did  anything  dis 
graceful,  or,  as  the  usual  standard  for  young  men 
goes,  anything  to  forfeit  my  claim  to  respect  abil- 
ity. 

At  one  of  the  first  public  balls  I  attended  I  saw 
the  Pullman  car  porter  who  had  so  kindly  assisted 
me  in  getting  to  Jacksonville.  I  went  immediately 
to  one  of  my  factory  friends  and  borrowed  fifteen 
dollars  with  which  to  repay  the  loan  my  benefactor 
had  made  me.  After  I  had  given  him  the  money, 
and  was  thanking  him,  I  noticed  that  he  wore  what 
was,  at  least,  an  exact  duplicate  of  my  lamented 
black  and  gray  tie.  It  was  somewhat  worn,  but 
distinct  enough  for  me  to  trace  the  same  odd  de 
sign  which  had  first  attracted  my  eye.  This  was 
enough  to  arouse  my  strongest  suspicions,  but 
whether  it  was  sufficient  for  the  law  to  take  cog 
nizance  of  I  did  not  consider.  My  astonishment 
and  the  ironical  humor  of  the  situation  drove  every 
thing  else  out  of  my  mind. 

These  balls  were  attended  by  a  great  variety  of 
people.  They  were  generally  given  by  the  wait 
ers  of  some  one  of  the  big  hotels,  and  were  often 
patronized  by  a  number  of  hotel  guests  who  came 
to  "see  the  sights."  The  crowd  was  always  noisy, 
but  good-natured ;  there  was  much  quadrille  danc 
ing,  and  a  strong-lunged  man  called  figures  in  a 
voice  which  did  not  confine  itself  to  the  limits  of 
the  hall.  It  is  not  worth  the  while  for  me  to  de- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  83 

scribe  in  detail  how  these  people  acted;  they  con 
ducted  themselves  in  about  the  same  manner  as  I 
have  seen  other  people  at  similar  balls  conduct 
themselves.  When  one  has  seen  something  of  the 
world  and  human  nature  he  must  conclude,  after 
all,  that  between  people  in  like  stations  of  life  there 
is  very  little  difference  the  world  over. 

However,  it  was  at  one  of  these  balls  that  I  first 
saw  the  cake-walk.  There  was  a  contest  for  a 
gold  watch,  to  be  awarded  to  the  hotel  head-waiter 
receiving  the  greatest  number  of  votes.  There  was 
some  dancing  while  the  votes  were  being  counted. 
Then  the  floor  was  cleared  for  the  cake-walk.  A 
half-dozen  guests  from  some  of  the  hotels  took 
seats  on  the  stage  to  act  as  judges,  and  twelve  or 
fourteen  couples  began  to  walk  for  a  "sure 
enough"  highly  decorated  cake,  which  was  in  plain 
evidence.  The  spectators  crowded  about  the  space 
reserved  for  the  contestants  and  watched  them  with 
interest  and  excitement.  The  couples  did  not  walk 
around  in  a  circle,  but  in  a  square,  with  the 
men  on  the  inside.  The  fine  points  to  be  consid 
ered  were  the  bearing  of  the  men,  the  precision 
with  which  they  turned  the  corners,  the  grace  of 
the  women,  and  the  ease  with  which  they  swung 
around  the  pivots.  The  men  walked  with  stately 
and  soldierly  step,  and  the  women  with  consider 
able  grace.  The  judges  arrived  at  their  decision 
by  a  process  of  elimination.  The  music  and  the 
walk  continued  for  some  minutes;  then  both  were 


84  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

stopped  while  the  judges  conferred,  when  the  walk 
began  again  several  couples  were  left  out.  In  this 
way  the  contest  was  finally  narrowed  down  to 
three  or  four  couples.  Then  the  excitement  be 
came  intense ;  there  was  much  partisan  cheering  as 
one  couple  or  another  would  execute  a  turn  in  extra 
elegant  style.  When  the  cake  was  finally  awarded 
the  spectators  were  about  evenly  divided  between 
those  who  cheered  the  winners  and  those  who  mut 
tered  about  the  unfairness  of  the  judges.  This 
was  the  cake-walk  in  its  original  form,  and  it  is 
what  the  colored  performers  on  the  theatrical  stage 
developed  into  the  prancing  movements  now  known 
all  over  the  world,  and  which  some  Parisian  crit 
ics  pronounced  the  acme  of  poetic  motion. 

There  are  a  great  many  colored  people  who  are 
ashamed  of  the  cake-walk,  but  I  think  they  ought 
to  be  proud  of  it.  It  is  my  opinion  that  the  col 
ored  people  of  this  country  have  done  four  things 
which  refute  the  oft  advanced  theory  that  they  are 
an  absolutely  inferior  race,  which  demonstrate  that 
they  have  originality  and  artistic  conception ;  and, 
what  is  more,  the  power  of  creating  that  which  can 
influence  and  appeal  universally.  The  first  two 
of  these  are  the  Uncle  Remus  stories,  collected  by 
Joel  Chandler  Harris,  and  the  Jubilee  songs,  to 
which  the  Fisk  singers  made  the  public  and  the 
skilled  musicians  of  both  America  and  Europe 
listen.  The  other  two  are  ragtime  music  and  the 
cake-walk.  No  one  who  has  traveled  can  ques- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  85 

tion  the  world-conquering  influence  of  ragtime ;  and 
I  do  not  think  it  would  be  an  exaggeration  to  say 
that  in  Europe  the  United  States  is  popularly 
known  better  by  ragtime  than  by  anything  else  it 
has  produced  in  a  generation.  In  Paris  they  call 
it  American  music.  The  newspapers  have  already 
told  how  the  practice  of  intricate  cake  walk  steps 
has  taken  up  the  time  of  European  royalty  and 
nobility.  These  are  lower  forms  of  art,  but  they 
give  evidence  of  a  power  that  will  some  day  be  ap 
plied  to  the  higher  forms.  In  this  measure,  at 
least,  and  aside  from  the  number  of  prominent  in 
dividuals  the  colored  people  of  the  United  States 
have  produced,  the  race  has  been  a  world  influence  ; 
and  all  of  the  Indians  between  Alaska  and  Pata 
gonia  haven't  done  as  much. 

Just  when  I  was  beginning  to  look  upon  Jack 
sonville  as  my  permanent  home,  and  was  beginning 
to  plan  about  marrying  the  young  school  teacher, 
raising  a  family,  and  working  in  a  cigar  factory 
the  rest  of  my  life,  for  some  reason,  which  I  do 
not  now  remember,  the  factory  at  which  I  worked 
was  indefinitely  shut  down.  Some  of  the  men  got 
work  in  other  factories  in  town,  some  decided  to 
go  to  Key  West  and  Tampa,  others  made  up  their 
minds  to  go  to  New  York  for  work.  All  at  once 
a  desire  like  a  fever  seized  me  to  see  the  North 
again,  and  I  cast  my  lot  with  those  bound  for 
New  York. 


CHAPTER  VI 

We  steamed  up  into  New  York  harbor  late  one 
afternoon  in  spring.  The  last  efforts  of  the  sun 
were  being  put  forth  in  turning  the  waters  of  the 
bay  to  glistening  gold ;  the  green  islands  on  either 
side,  in  spite  of  their  warlike  mountings,  looked 
calm  and  peaceful ;  the  buildings  of  the  town  shone 
out  in  a  reflected  light  which  gave  the  city  an  air 
of  enchantment ;  and,  truly,  it  is  an  enchanted  spot. 
New  York  City  is  the  most  fatally  fascinating 
thing  in  America.  She  sits  like  a  great  witch  at 
the  gate  of  the  country,  showing  her  alluring 
white  face,  and  hiding  her  crooked  hands  and  feet 
under  the  folds  of  her  wide  garments, — constantly 
enticing  thousands  from  far  within,  and  tempting 
those  who  come  from  across  the  seas  to  go  no 
farther.  And  all  these  become  the  victims  of  her 
caprice.  Some  she  at  once  crushes  beneath  her 
cruel  feet ;  others  she  condemns  to  a  fate  like  that 
of  galley  slaves ;  a  few  she  favors  and  fondles,  rid 
ing  them  high  on  the  bubbles  of  fortune ;  then  with 
a  sudden  breath  she  blows  the  bubbles  out  and 
laughs  mockingly  as  she  watches  them  fall. 

Twice  I  had  passed  through  it;  but  this  was 
really  my  first  visit  to  New  York ;  and  as  I  walked 

86 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  87 

about  that  evening1 1  began  to  feel  the  dread  power 
of  the  city ;  the  crowds,  the  lights,  the  excitement, 
the  gayety  and  all  its  subtler  stimulating  influences 
began  to  take  effect  upon  me.  My  blood  ran 
quicker,  and  I  felt  that  I  was  just  beginning  to 
live.  To  some  natures  this  stimulant  of  life  in  a 
great  city  becomes  a  thing  as  binding  and  neces 
sary  as  opium  is  to  one  addicted  to  the  habit.  It 
becomes  their  breath  of  life ;  they  cannot  exist  out 
side  of  it ;  rather  than  be  deprived  of  it  they  are 
content  to  suffer  hunger,  want,  pain  and  misery; 
they  would  not  exchange  even  a  ragged  and 
wretched  condition  among  the  great  crowd  for  any 
degree  of  comfort  away  from  it. 

As  soon  as  we  landed,  four  of  us  went  directly 
to  a  lodging-house  in  27th  Street,  just  west  of 
Sixth  Avenue.  The  house  was  run  by  a  short, 
stout  mulatto  man,  who  was  exceedingly  talkative 
and  inquisitive.  In  fifteen  minutes  he  not  only 
knew  the  history  of  the  past  life  of  each  one  of  us, 
but  had  a  clearer  idea  of  what  we  intended  to  do 
in  the  future  than  we  ourselves.  He  sought  this 
information  so  much  with  an  air  of  being  very 
particular  as  to  whom  he  admitted  into  his  house 
that  we  tremblingly  answered  every  question  that 
he  asked.  When  we  had  become  located  we  went 
out  and  got  supper;  then  walked  around  until 
about  ten  o'clock.  At  that  hour  we  met  a  couple 
of  young  fellows  who  lived  in  New  York  and  were 
known  to  one  of  the  members  of  our  party.  It 


88  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

was  suggested  we  go  to  a  certain  place  which  was 
known  by  the  proprietor's  name.  We  turned  into 
one  of  the  cross  streets  and  mounted  the  stoop  of 
a  house  in  about  the  middle  of  a  block  between 
Sixth  and  Seventh  Avenues.  One  of  the  young 
men  whom  we  had  met  rang  a  bell,  and  a  man  on 
the  inside  cracked  the  door  a  couple  of  inches ; 
then  opened  it  and  let  us  in.  We  found  ourselves 
in  the  hallway  of  what  had  once  been  a  residence. 
The  front  parlor  had  been  converted  into  a  bar, 
and  a  half  dozen  or  so  of  well  dressed  men  were  in 
the  room.  We  went  in,  and  after  a  general  intro 
duction  had  several  rounds  of  beer.  In  the  back 
parlor  a  crowd  was  sitting  and  standing  around 
the  walls  of  the  room  watching  an  exciting  and 
noisy  game  of  pool.  I  walked  back  and  joined 
this  crowd  to  watch  the  game,  and  principally  to 
get  away  from  the  drinking  party.  The  game 
was  really  interesting,  the  players  being  quite  ex 
pert,  and  the  excitement  was  heightened  by  the 
bets  which  were  being  made  on  the  result.  At 
times  the  antics  and  remarks  of  both  players  and 
spectators  were  amusing.  When,  at  a  critical 
point,  a  player  missed  a  shot  he  was  deluged 
by  those  financially  interested  in  his  making  it  with 
a  flood  of  epithets  synonymous  to  "chump" ;  while 
from  the  others  he  would  be  jeered  by  such  re 
marks  as  "Nigger,  dat  cue  ain't  no  hoe-handle." 
I  noticed  that  among  this  class  of  colored  men  the 
word  "nigger"  was  freely  used  in  about  the  same 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  89 

sense  as  the  word  "fellow,"  and  sometimes  as  a 
term  of  almost  endearment ;  but  I  soon  learned  that 
its  use  was  positively  and  absolutely  prohibited  to 
white  men. 

I  stood  watching  this  pool  game  until  I  was 
called  by  my  friends,  who  were  still  in  the  bar 
room,  to  go  upstairs.  On  the  second  floor  there 
were  two  large  rooms.  From  the  hall  I  looked  into 
the  one  on  the  front.  There  was  a  large,  round 
table  in  the  center,  at  which  five  or  six  men  were 
seated  playing  poker.  The  air  and  conduct  here 
were  greatly  in  contrast  to  what  I  had  just  seen  in 
the  pool-room ;  these  men  were  evidently  the  aris 
tocrats  of  the  place ;  they  were  well,  perhaps  a  bit 
flashily,  dressed  and  spoke  in  low  modulated  voices, 
frequently  using  the  word  "gentlemen" ;  in  fact, 
they  seemed  to  be  practicing  a  sort  of  Chester- 
fieldian  politeness  towards  each  other.  I  was 
watching  these  men  with  a  great  deal  of  interest 
and  some  degree  of  admiration,  when  I  was  again 
called  by  the  members  of  our  party,  and  I  followed 
them  on  to  the  back  room.  There  was  a  door 
keeper  at  this  room,  and  we  were  admitted  only 
after  inspection.  When  we  got  inside  I  saw  a 
crowd  of  men  of  all  ages  and  kinds  grouped  about 
an  old  billiard  table,  regarding  some  of  whom,  in 
supposing  them  to  be  white,  I  made  no  mistake. 
At  first  I  did  not  know  what  these  men  were  doing ; 
they  were  using  terms  that  were  strange  to  me. 
I  could  hear  only  a  confusion  of  voices  exclaiming, 


90  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

"Shoot  the  two  !"  "Shoot  the  four !"  "Fate  me !" 
"Fate  me!"  "I've  got  you  fated!"  "Twenty- 
five  cents  he  don't  turn !"  This  was  the  ancient 
and  terribly  fascinating  game  of  dice,  popularly 
known  as  "craps."  I,  myself,  had  played  pool  in 
Jacksonville ;  it  is  a  favorite  game  among  cigar- 
makers,  and  I  had  seen  others  play  cards ;  but  here 
was  something  new.  I  edged  my  way  in  to  the 
table  and  stood  between  one  of  my  new-found  New 
York  friends  and  a  tall,  slender,  black  fellow,  who 
was  making  side  bets  while  the  dice  were  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table.  My  companion  explained 
to  me  the  principles  of  the  game ;  and  they  are  so 
simple  that  they  hardly  need  to  be  explained  twice. 
The  dice  came  around  the  table  until  they  reached 
the  man  on  the  other  side  of  the  tall,  black  fellow. 
He  lost,  and  the  latter  said,  "Gimme  the  bones." 
He  threw  a  dollar  on  the  table  and  said,  "Shoot 
the  dollar."  His  style  of  play  was  so  strenuous 
that  he  had  to  be  allowed  plenty  of  room.  He 
shook  the  dice  high  above  his  head,  and  each  time 
he  threw  them  on  the  table  he  emitted  a  grunt  such 
as  men  give  when  they  are  putting  forth  physical 
exertion  with  a  rhythmic  regularity.  He  fre 
quently  whirled  completely  around  on  his  heels, 
throwing  the  dice  the  entire  length  of  the  table, 
and  talking  to  them  as  though  they  were  trained 
animals.  He  appealed  to  them  in  short  singsong 
phrases.  "Come  dice,"  he  would  say.  "Little 
Phoebe,"  "Little  Joe,"  "'Way  down  yonder  in  the 


AK  EX-COLORED  MAN  SI 

cornfield."  Whether  these  mystic  incantations 
were  efficacious  or  not  I  could  not  say,  but,  at  any 
rate,  his  luck  was  great,  and  he  had  what  gamblers 
term  "nerve."  "Shoot  the  dollar!"  "Shoot  the 
two !"  "Shoot  the  four !"  "Shoot  the  eight !"  came 
from  his  lips  as  quickly  as  the  dice  turned  to  his 
advantage.  My  companion  asked  me  if  I  had 
ever  played.  I  told  him  no.  He  said  that  I 
ought  to  try  my  luck ;  that  everybody  won  at  first. 
The  tall  man  at  my  side  was  waving  his  arms  in 
the  air  exclaiming  "Shoot  the  sixteen !"  "Shoot  the 
sixteen !"  "Fate  me !"  Whether  it  was  my  com 
panion's  suggestion  or  some  latent  dare-devil 
strain  in  my  blood  which  suddenly  sprang  into 
activity  I  do  not  know ;  but  with  a  thrill  of  excite 
ment  which  went  through  my  whole  body  I  threw 
a  twenty  dollar  bill  on  the  table  and  said  in  a 
trembling  voice,  "I  fate  you." 

I  could  feel  that  I  had  gained  the  attention  and 
respect  of  everybody  in  the  room,  every  eye  was 
fixed  on  me,  and  the  widespread  question,  "Who  is 
he?"  went  around.  This  was  gratifying  to  a  cer 
tain  sense  of  vanity  of  which  I  have  never  been 
able  to  rid  myself,  and  I  felt  that  it  was  worth 
the  money  even  if  I  lost.  The  tall  man  with  a 
whirl  on  his  heels  and  a  double  grunt  threw  the 
dice ;  four  was  the  number  which  turned  up.  This 
is  considered  as  a  hard  "point"  to  make.  He  re 
doubled  his  contortions  and  his  grunts  and  his 
pleadings  to  the  dice ;  but  on  his  third  or  fourth 


92  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

throw  the  fateful  seven  turned  up,  and  I  had  won. 
My  companion  and  all  my  friends  shouted  to  me 
to  follow  up  my  luck.  The  fever  was  on  me.  I 
seized  the  dice.  My  hands  were  so  hot  that  the 
bits  of  bone  felt  like  pieces  of  ice.  I  shouted  as 
loudly  as  I  could,  "Shoot  it  all !"  but  the  blood  was 
tingling  so  about  my  ears  that  I  could  not  hear 
my  own  voice.  I  was  soon  "fated."  I  threw  the 
dice — seven — I  had  won.  "Shoot  it  all!"  I  cried 
again.  There  was  a  pause ;  the  stake  was  more 
than  one  man  cared  to  or  could  cover.  I  was 
finally  "fated"  by  several  men  taking  "a  part"  of 
it.  I  then  threw  the  dice  again.  Seven.  I  had 
won.  "Shoot  it  all!"  I  shouted  excitedly.  After 
a  short  delay  I  was  "fated."  Again  I  rolled  the 
dice.  Eleven.  Again  I  had  won.  My  friends 
now  surrounded  me  and,  much  against  my  inclina 
tion,  forced  me  to  take  down  all  of  the  money  ex 
cept  five  dollars.  I  tried  my  luck  once  more,  and 
threw  some  small  "Point"  which  I  failed  to  make, 
and  the  dice  passed  on  to  the  next  man. 

In  less  than  three  minutes  I  had  won  more  than 
two  hundred  dollars,  a  sum  which  afterwards  cost 
me  dearly.  I  was  the  hero  of  the  moment,  and 
was  soon  surrounded  by  a  group  of  men  who  ex 
pressed  admiration  for  my  "nerve"  and  predicted 
for  me  a  brilliant  future  as  a  gambler.  Although 
at  the  time  I  had  no  thought  of  becoming  a  gam 
bler  I  felt  proud  of  my  success.  I  felt  a  bit 
ashamed,  too,  that  I  had  allowed  my  friends  to 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  93 

persuade  me  to  take  down  my  money  so  soon. 
Another  set  of  men  also  got  around  me,  and 
begged  me  for  twenty-five  or  fifty  cents  to  put 
them  back  into  the  game.  I  gave  each  of  them 
something.  I  saw  that  several  of  them  had  on 
linen  dusters,  and  as  I  looked  about  I  noticed  that 
there  were  perhaps  a  dozen  men  in  the  room  simi 
larly  clad.  I  asked  the  fellow  who  had  been  my 
prompter  at  the  dice  table  why  they  dressed  in 
such  a  manner.  He  told  me  that  men  who  had 
lost  all  the  money  and  jewelry  they  possessed,  fre 
quently,  in  an  effort  to  recoup  their  losses,  would 
gamble  away  all  their  outer  clothing  and  even 
their  shoes ;  and  that  the  proprietor  kept  on  hand 
a  supply  of  linen  dusters  for  all  who  were  so  un 
fortunate.  My  informant  went  on  to  say  that 
sometimes  a  fellow  would  become  almost  com 
pletely  dressed  and  then,  by  a  turn  of  the  dice, 
would  be  thrown  back  into  a  state  of  semi-naked 
ness.  Some  of  them  were  virtually  prisoners  and 
unable  to  get  into  the  streets  for  days  at  a  time. 
They  ate  at  the  lunch  counter,  where  their  credit 
was  good  so  long  as  they  were  fair  gamblers  and 
did  not  attempt  to  jump  their  debts,  and  they 
slept  around  in  chairs.  They  importuned  friends 
and  winners  to  put  them  back  in  the  game,  and 
kept  at  it  until  fortune  again  smiled  on  them.  I 
laughed  heartily  at  this,  not  thinking  the  day  was 
coming  which  would  find  me  in  the  same  ludicrous 
predicament. 


94  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

On  passing  downstairs  I  was  told  that  the  third 
and  top  floor  of  the  house  was   occupied  by  the 
proprietor.     When  we  passed  through  the  bar  I 
treated  everybody  in  the  room, — and  that  was  no 
small  number,   for   eight  or  ten  had  followed  us 
down.     Then   our  party   went   out.     It  was  now 
about  half -past  twelve,  but  my  nerves  were  at  such 
a  tension  that  I  could  not  endure  the  mere  thought 
of  going  to  bed.     I  asked  if  there  was  no  other 
place  to  which  we  could  go;  our  guides  said  yes, 
and   suggested   that  we  go  to  the  "Club."     We 
went   to   Sixth   Avenue,   walked   two   blocks,   and 
turned    to    the    west    into    another    street.     We 
stopped  in  front  of  a  house  with  three  stories  and 
a  basement.     In  the  basement  was  a  Chinese  Chop- 
suey  restaurant.     There  was  a  red  lantern  at  the 
iron   gate   to   the   areaway,   inside   of  which   the 
Chinaman's  name  was  printed.     We  went  up  the 
steps  of  the  stoop,  rang  the  bell,  and  were  admit 
ted   without    any    delay.     From    the    outside    the 
house  bore  a  rather  gloomy  aspect,  the  windows 
being  absolutely  dark,  but  within  it  was  a  veri 
table    house    of    mirth.     When    we    had    passed 
through  a  small  vestibule  and  reached  the  hallway 
we  heard  mingled  sounds  of  music  and  laughter, 
the  clink  of  glasses  and  the  pop  of  bottles.     We 
went  into  the  main  room,  and  I  was  little  pre 
pared    for   what    I    saw.     The   brilliancy    of   the 
place,  the   display   of  diamond  rings,   scarf-pins, 
ear-rings  and  breast-pins,  the  big  rolls  of  money 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  95 

that  were  brought  into  evidence  when  drinks  were 
paid  for,  and  the  air  of  gayety  that  pervaded,  all 
completely  dazzled  and  dazed  me.  I  felt  posi 
tively  giddy,  and  it  was  several  minutes  before  I 
was  able  to  make  any  clear  and  definite  observa 
tions. 

We  at  length  secured  places  at  a  table  in  a  cor 
ner  of  the  room,  and  as  soon  as  we  could  attract 
the  attention  of  one  of  the  busy  waiters  ordered 
a  round  of  drinks.  When  I  had  somewhat  col 
lected  my  senses  I  realized  that  in  a  large  back 
room  into  which  the  main  room  opened,  there  was 
a  young  fellow  singing  a  song,  accompanied  on 
the  piano  by  a  short,  thick-set,  dark  man.  Be 
tween  each  verse  he  did  some  dance  steps,  which 
brought  forth  great  applause  and  a  shower  of 
small  coins  at  his  feet.  After  the  singer  had  re 
sponded  to  a  rousing  encore,  the  stout  man  at  the 
piano  began  to  run  his  fingers  up  and  down  the 
keyboard.  This  he  did  in  a  manner  which  indi 
cated  that  he  was  master  of  a  good  deal  of  tech- 
nic.  Then  he  began  to  play;  and  such  playing! 
I  stopped  talking  to  listen.  It  was  music  of  a 
kind  I  had  never  heard  before.  It  was  music  that 
demanded  physical  response,  patting  of  the  feet, 
drumming  of  the  fingers,  or  nodding  of  the  head 
in  time  with  the  beat.  The  barbaric  harmonies, 
the  audacious  resolutions  often  consisting  of  an 
abrupt  jump  from  one  key  to  another,  the  intri 
cate  rhythms  in  which  the  accents  fell  in  the  most 


96  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

unexpected  places,  but  in  which  the  beat  was  never 
lost,  produced  a  most  curious  effect.  And,  too, 
the  player, — the  dexterity  of  his  left  hand  in  mak 
ing  rapid  octave  runs  and  jumps  was  little  short 
of  marvelous;  and,  with  his  right  hand,  he  fre 
quently  swept  half  the  keyboard  with  clean  cut 
chromatics  which  he  fitted  in  so  nicely  as  never  to 
fail  to  arouse  in  his  listeners  a  sort  of  pleasant 
surprise  at  the  accomplishment  of  the  feat. 

This  was  ragtime  music,  then  a  novelty  in  New 
York,  and  just  growing  to  be  a  rage  which  has 
not  yet  subsided.  It  was  originated  in  the  ques 
tionable  resorts  about  Memphis  and  St.  Louis  by 
Negro  piano  players,  who  knew  no  more  of  the 
theory  of  music  than  they  did  of  the  theory  of  the 
universe,  but  were  guided  by  natural  musical  in 
stinct  and  talent.  It  made  its  way  to  Chicago, 
where  it  was  popular  some  time  before  it  reached 
New  York.  These  players  often  improvised  crude 
and,  at  times,  vulgar  words  to  fit  the  melodies. 
This  was  the  beginning  of  the  ragtime  song. 
Several  of  these  improvisations  were  taken  down 
by  white  men,  the  words  slightly  altered,  and  pub 
lished  under  the  names  of  the  arrangers.  They 
sprang  into  immediate  popularity  and  earned 
small  fortunes,  of  which  the  Negro  originators  got 
only  a  few  dollars.  But  I  have  learned  that  since 
that  time  a  number  of  colored  men,  of  not  only 
musical  talent,  but  training,  are  writing  out  their 
own  melodies  and  words  and  reaping  the  reward 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  97 

of  their  work.  I  have  learned  also  that  they  have 
a  large  number  of  white  imitators  and  adulter 
ators. 

American  musicians,  instead  of  investigating 
ragtime,  attempt  to  ignore  it  or  dismiss  it  with  a 
contemptuous  word.  But  that  has  always  been 
the  course  of  scholasticism  in  every  branch  of  art. 
Whatever  new  thing  the  people  like  is  pooh- 
poohed;  whatever  is  popular  is  spoken  of  as  not 
worth  the  while.  The  fact  is,  nothing  great  or 
enduring,  especially  in  music,  has  ever  sprung  full- 
fledged  and  unprecedented  from  the  brain  of  any 
master ;  the  best  that  he  gives  to  the  world  he 
gathers  from  the  hearts  of  the  people,  and  runs  it 
through  the  alembic  of  his  genius.  In  spite  of 
the  bans  which  musicians  and  music  teachers  have 
placed  upon  it,  the  people  still  demand  and  enjoy 
ragtime.  One  thing  cannot  be  denied;  it  is  mu 
sic  which  possesses  at  least  one  strong  element  of 
greatness;  it  appeals  universally;  not  only  the 
American,  but  the  English,  the  French,  and  even 
the  German  people,  find  delight  in  it.  In  fact, 
there  is  not  a  corner  of  the  civilized  world  in  which 
it  is  not  known,  and  this  proves  its  originality; 
for  if  it  were  an  imitation,  the  people  of  Europe, 
anyhow,  would  not  have  found  it  a  novelty.  Any 
one  who  doubts  that  there  is  a  peculiar  heel-tic 
kling,  smile-provoking,  joy-awakening  charm  in 
ragtime  needs  only  to  hear  a  skillful  performer 
play  the  genuine  article  to  be  convinced.  I  be- 


98  THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

lieve  that  it  has  its  place  as  well  as  the  music 
which  draws  from  us  sighs  and  tears. 

I  became  so  interested  in  both  the  music  and 
the  player  that  I  left  the  table  where  I  was  sit 
ting,  and  made  my  way  through  the  hall  into  the 
back  room,  where  I  could  see  as  well  as  hear.  I 
talked  to  the  piano  player  between  the  musical 
numbers,  and  found  out  that  he  was  just  a  nat 
ural  musician,  never  having  taken  a  lesson  in  his 
life.  Not  only  could  he  play  almost  anything  he 
heard,  but  could  accompany  singers  in  songs  he 
had  never  heard.  He  had  by  ear  alone,  composed 
some  pieces,  several  of  which  he  played  over  for 
me;  each  of  them  was  properly  proportioned  and 
balanced.  I  began  to  wonder  what  this  man  with 
such  a  lavish  natural  endowment  would  have  done 
had  he  been  trained.  Perhaps  he  wouldn't  have 
done  anything  at  all;  he  might  have  become,  at 
best,  a  mediocre  imitator  of  the  great  masters  in 
what  they  have  already  done  to  a  finish,  or  one 
of  the  modern  innovators  who  strive  after  orig 
inality  by  seeing  how  cleverly  they  can  dodge 
about  through  the  rules  of  harmony,  and  at  the 
same  time  avoid  melody.  It  is  certain  that  he 
would  not  have  been  so  delightful  as  he  was  in 
ragtime. 

I  sat  by  watching  and  listening  to  this  man  un 
til  I  was  dragged  away  by  my  friends.  The 
place  was  now  almost  deserted;  only  a  few  strag 
glers  hung  on,  and  they  were  all  the  worse  for 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  99 

drink.  My  friends  were  well  up  in  this  class. 
We  passed  into  the  street;  the  lamps  were  pale 
against  the  sky;  day  was  just  breaking.  We 
went  home  and  got  into  bed.  I  fell  into  a  fitful 
sort  of  sleep  with  ragtime  music  ringing  continu 
ally  in  my  ears. 


CHAPTER    VII 

I  shall  take  advantage  of  this  pause  in  my  nar 
rative  to  more  closely  describe  the  "Club"  spoken 
of  in  the  latter  part  of  the  preceding  chapter, — 
to  describe  it,  as  I  afterwards  came  to  know  it,  as 
an  habitue.  I  shall  do  this,  not  only  because  of 
the  direct  influence  it  had  on  my  life,  but  also  be 
cause  it  was  at  that  time  the  most  famous  place 
of  its  kind  in  New  York,  and  was  well  known 
to  both  white  and  colored  people  of  certain 
classes. 

I  have  already  stated  that  in  the  basement  of 
the  house  there  was  a  Chinese  restaurant.  The 
Chinaman  who  kept  it  did  an  exceptionally  good 
business ;  for  chop-suey  was  a  favorite  dish  among 
the  frequenters  of  the  place.  It  is  a  food  that, 
somehow,  has  the  power  of  absorbing  alcoholic 
liquors  that  have  been  taken  into  the  stomach.  I 
have  heard  men  claim  that  they  could  sober  up  on 
chop-suey.  Perhaps  that  accounted,  in  some  de 
gree,  for  its  popularity.  On  the  main  floor  there 
were  two  large  rooms,  a  parlor  about  thirty  feet 
in  length  and  a  large  square  back  room  into  which 
the  parlor  opened.  The  floor  of  the  parlor  was 
carpeted ;  small  tables  and  chairs  were  arranged 

100 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  101 

about  the  room;  the  windows  were  draped  with 
lace  curtains,  and  the  walls  were  literally  covered 
with  photographs  or  lithographs  of  every  colored 
man  in  America  who  had  ever  "done  anything." 
There  were  pictures  of  Frederick  Douglass  and  of 
Peter  Jackson,  of  all  the  lesser  lights  of  the  prize 
fighting  ring,  of  all  the  famous  jockeys  and  the 
stage  celebrities,  down  to  the  newest  song  and 
dance  team.  The  most  of  these  photographs  were 
autographed  and,  in  a  sense,  made  a  really  valu 
able  collection.  In  the  back  room  there  was  a 
piano;  and  tables  were  placed  around  the  wall. 
The  floor  was  bare  and  the  center  was  left  vacant 
for  singers,  dancers  and  others  who  entertained 
the  patrons.  In  a  closet  in  this  room  which  jut 
ted  out  into  the  hall  the  proprietor  kept  his  buf 
fet.  There-  was  no  open  bar,  because  the  place 
had  no  liquor  license.  In  this  back  room  the  ta 
bles  were  sometimes  pushed  aside,  and  the  floor 
given  over  to  general  dancing.  The  front  room 
on  the  next  floor  was  a  sort  of  private  party  room ; 
a  back  room  on  the  same  floor  contained  no  fur 
niture,  and  was  devoted  to  the  use  of  new  and 
ambitions  performers.  In  this  room  song  and 
dance  teams  practiced  their  steps,  acrobatic  teams 
practiced  their  tumbles,  and  many  other  kinds  of 
"acts"  rehearsed  their  "turns."  The  other  rooms 
of  the  house  were  used  as  sleeping  apartments. 

No  gambling  was  allowed,  and  the  conduct  of 
the   place   was   surprisingly   orderly.     It  was,   in 


102          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

short,  a  center  of  colored  bohemians  and  sports. 
Here  the  great  prize  fighters  were  wont  to  come, 
the  famous  jockeys,  the  noted  minstrels,  whose 
names  and  faces  were  familiar  on  every  bill-board 
in  the  country ;  and  these  drew  a  multitude  of 
those  who  love  to  dwell  in  the  shadow  of  greatness. 
There  were  then  no  organizations  giving  per 
formances  of  such  order  as  are  now  given  by  sev 
eral  colored  companies ;  that  was  because  no  man 
ager  could  imagine  that  audiences  would  pay  to 
see  Negro  performers  in  any  other  role  than  that 
of  Mississippi  River  roustabouts ;  but  there  was 
lots  of  talent  and  ambition.  I  often  heard  the 
younger  and  brighter  men  discussing  the  time 
when  they  would  compel  the  public  to  recognize 
that  they  could  do  something  more  than  grin  and 
cut  pigeon  wings. 

Sometimes  one  or  two  of  the  visiting  stage  pro 
fessionals,  after  being  sufficiently  urged,  would  go 
into  the  back  room,  and  take  the  places  of  the 
regular  amateur  entertainers,  but  they  were  very 
sparing  with  these  favors,  and  the  patrons  re 
garded  them  as  special  treats.  There  was  one 
man,  a  minstrel,  who,  whenever  he  responded  to  a 
request  to  "do  something,"  never  essayed  anything 
below  a  reading  from  Shakespeare.  How  well  he 
read  I  do  not  know,  but  he  greatly  impressed  me ; 
and  I  can,  at  least,  say  that  he  had  a  voice  which 
strangely  stirred  those  who  heard  it.  Here  was 
a  man  who  made  people  laugh  at  the  size  of  his 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  103 

mouth,  while  he  carried  in  his  heart  a  burning 
ambition  to  be  a  tragedian;  and  so  after  all  he 
did  play  a  part  in  a  tragedy. 

These  notables  of  the  ring,  the  turf  and  the 
stage,  drew  to  the  place  crowds  of  admirers,  both 
white  and  colored.  Whenever  one  of  them  came 
in  there  were  awe-inspired  whispers  from  those 
who  knew  him  by  sight,  in  which  they  enlightened 
those  around  them  as  to  his  identity,  and  hinted 
darkly  at  their  great  intimacy  with  the  noted  one. 
Those  who  were  on  terms  of  approach  immedi 
ately  showed  their  privilege  over  others  less  fortu 
nate  by  gathering  around  their  divinity.  I  was, 
at  first,  among  those  who  dwelt  in  darkness. 
Most  of  these  celebrities  I  had  never  heard  of. 
This  made  me  an  object  of  pity  among  many  of 
my  new  associates.  I,  however,  soon  learned  to 
fake  a  knowledge  for  the  benefit  of  those  who  were 
greener  than  I;  and,  finally,  I  became  personally 
acquainted  with  the  majority  of  the  famous  per 
sonages  who  came  to  the  "Club." 

A  great  deal  of  money  was  spent  here ;  so  many 
of  the  patrons  were  men  who  earned  large  sums. 
I  remember  one  night  a  dapper  little  brown- 
skinned  fellow  was  pointed  out  to  me,  and  I  was 
told  that  he  was  the  most  popular  jockey  of  the 
day,  and  that  he  earned  $12,000  a  year.  This 
latter  statement  I  couldn't  doubt,  for  with  my  own 
eyes  I  saw  him  spending  at  about  that  rate.  For 
his  friends  and  those  who  were  introduced  to  him 


104          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

he  bought  nothing  but  wine; — in  the  sporting 
circle,  "wine"  means  champagne — and  paid  for  it 
at  five  dollars  a  quart.  He  sent  a  quart  to  every 
table  in  the  place  with  his  compliments;  and  on 
the  table  at  which  he  and  his  party  were  seated 
there  were  more  than  a  dozen  bottles.  It  was  the 
custom  at  the  "Club"  for  the  waiter  not  to  re 
move  the  bottles  when  champagne  was  being  drunk 
until  the  party  had  finished.  There  were  reasons 
for  this;  it  advertised  the  brand  of  wine,  it  ad 
vertised  that  the  party  was  drinking  wine,  and 
advertised  how  much  they  had  bought.  This 
jockey  had  won  a  great  race  that  day,  and  he  was 
rewarding  his  admirers  for  the  homage  they  paid 
him,  all  of  which  he  accepted  with  a  fine  air  of 
condescension. 

Besides  the  people  I  have  just  been  describing 
there  was  at  the  place  almost  every  night  one  or 
two  parties  of  white  people,  men  and  women,  who 
were  out  sight-seeing,  or  slumming.  They  gen 
erally  came  in  cabs ;  some  of  them  would  stay  only 
for  a  few  minutes,  while  others  sometimes  stayed 
until  morning.  There  was  also  another  set  of 
white  people  who  came  frequently ;  it  was  made  up 
of  variety  performers  and  others  who  delineated 
darky  characters;  they  came  to  get  their  imita- 
tations  first  hand  from  the  Negro  entertainers  they 
saw  there. 

There  was  still  another  set  of  white  patrons, 
composed  of  women;  these  were  not  occasional 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  105 

visitors,  but  five  or  six  of  them  were  regular1 
habitues.  When  I  first  saw  them  I  was  not  sure 
that  they  were  white.  In  the  first  place,  among 
the  many  colored  women  who  came  to  the  "Club" 
there  were  several  just  as  fair;  and,  secondly,  I 
always  saw  these  women  in  company  with  colored 
men.  They  were  all  good-looking  and  well 
dressed,  and  seemed  to  be  women  of  some  educa 
tion.  One  of  these  in  particular  attracted  my  at 
tention  ;  she  was  an  exceedingly  beautiful  woman 
of  perhaps  thirty-five ;  she  had  glistening  copper- 
colored  hair,  very  white  skin  and  eyes  very  much 
like  Du  Maurier's  conception  of  Trilby's  "twin 
gray  stars."  When  I  came  to  know  her  I  found 
that  she  was  a  woman  of  considerable  culture; 
she  had  traveled  in  Europe,  spoke  French,  and 
played  the  piano  well.  She  was  always  dressed 
elegantly,  but  in  absolute  good  taste.  She  al 
ways  came  to  the  "Club"  in  a  cab,  and  was  soon 
joined  by  a  well  set  up,  very  black  young  fellow. 
He  was  always  faultlessly  dressed;  one  of  the 
most  exclusive  tailors  in  New  York  made  his 
clothes,  and  he  wore  a  number  of  diamonds  in 
about  as  good  taste  as  they  could  be  worn  by  a 
man.  I  learned  that  she  paid  for  his  clothes  and 
his  diamonds.  I  learned,  too,  that  he  was  not  the 
only  one  of  his  kind.  More  that  I  learned  would 
be  better  suited  to  a  book  on  social  phenomena 
than  to  a  narrative  of  my  life. 

This  woman  was  known  at  the  "Club"  as  the 


106          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

rich  widow.  She  went  by  a  very  aristocratic 
sounding  name,  which  corresponded  to  her  appear 
ance.  I  shall  never  forget  how  hard  it  was  for 
me  to  get  over  my  feelings  of  surprise,  perhaps 
more  than  surprise,  at  seeing  her  with  her  black 
companion;  somehow  I  never  exactly  enjoyed  the 
sight.  I  have  devoted  so  much  time  to  this  pair, 
the  "widow"  and  her  companion,  because  it  was 
through  them  that  another  decided  turn  was 
brought  about  in  my  life. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

On  the  day  following  our  night  at  the  "Club" 
we  slept  until  late  in  the  afternoon;  so  late  that 
beginning  of  search  for  work  was  entirely  out  of 
the  question.  This  did  not  cause  me  much  worry, 
for  I  had  more  than  three  hundred  dollars,  and 
New  York  had  impressed  me  as  a  place  where  there 
was  lots  of  money  and  not  much  difficulty  in  get 
ting  it.  It  is  needless  to  inform  my  readers  that 
I  did  not  long  hold  this  opinion.  We  got  out  of 
the  house  about  dark,  went  round  to  a  restaurant 
on  Sixth  Avenue  and  ate  something,  then  walked 
around  for  a  couple  of  hours.  I  finally  suggested 
that  we  visit  the  same  places  we  had  been  in 
the  night  before.  Following  my  suggestion  we 
started  first  to  the  gambling  house.  The  man  on 
the  door  let  us  in  without  any  question;  I  accred 
ited  this  to  my  success  of  the  night  before.  We 
went  straight  to  the  "crap"  room,  and  I  at  once 
made  my  way  to  a  table,  where  I  was  rather  flat 
tered  by  the  murmur  of  recognition  which  went 
around.  I  played  in  up  and  down  luck  for  three 
or  four  hours ;  then,  worn  with  nervous  excite 
ment,  quit,  having  lost  about  fifty  dollars.  But 
I  was  so  strongly  possessed  with  the  thought  that 

107 


108          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

I  would  make  up  my  losses  the  next  time  I  played 
that  I  left  the  place  with  a  light  heart. 

When  we  got  into  the  street  our  party  was  di 
vided  against  itself;  two  were  for  going  home  at 
once  and  getting  to  bed.  They  gave  as  a  reason 
that  we  were  to  get  up  early  and  look  for  jobs. 
I  think  the  real  reason  was  that  they  had  each 
lost  several  dollars  in  the  game.  I  lived  to  learn 
that  in  the  world  of  sport  all  men  win  alike  but 
lose  differently;  and  so  gamblers  are  rated,  not 
by  the  way  in  which  they  win,  but  by  the  way  in 
which  they  lose.  Some  men  lose  with  a  careless 
smile,  recognizing  that  losing  is  a  part  of  the 
game ;  others  curse  their  luck  and  rail  at  fortune ; 
and  others,  still,  lose  sadly ;  after  each  such  experi 
ence  they  are  swept  by  a  wave  of  reform ;  they  re 
solve  to  stop  gambling  and  be  good.  When  in  this 
frame  of  mind  it  would  take  very  little  persuasion 
to  lead  them  into  a  prayer-meeting.  Those  in  the 
first  class  are  looked  upon  with  admiration;  those 
in  the  second  class  are  merely  commonplace ;  while 
those  in  the  third  are  regarded  with  contempt.  I 
believe  these  distinctions  hold  good  in  all  the  ven 
tures  of  life.  After  some  minutes  one  of  my 
friends  and  I  succeeded  in  convincing  the  other 
two  that  a  while  at  the  "Club"  would  put  us  all 
in  better  spirits ;  and  they  consented  to  go  on  our 
promise  not  to  stay  longer  than  an  hour.  We 
found  the  place  crowded,  and  the  same  sort  of 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  109 

thing  going  on  which  we  had  seen  the  night  be 
fore.  I  took  a  seat  at  once  by  the  side  of  the 
piano  player,  and  was  soon  lost  to  everything  else 
except  the  novel  charm  of  the  music.  I  watched 
the  performer  with  the  idea  of  catching  the  trick ; 
and,  during  one  of  his  intermissions,  I  took  his 
place  at  the  piano  and  made  an  attempt  to  imitate 
him,  but  even  my  quick  ear  and  ready  fingers 
were  unequal  to  the  task  on  first  trial. 

We  did  not  stay  at  the  "Club"  very  long,  but 
went  home  to  bed  in  order  to  be  up  early  the  next 
day.  We  had  no  difficulty  in  finding  work,  and 
my  third  morning  in  New  York  found  me  at  a  ta 
ble  rolling  cigars.  I  worked  steadily  for  some 
weeks,  at  the  same  time  spending  my  earnings  be 
tween  the  "crap"  game  and  the  "Club."  Making 
cigars  became  more  and  more  irksome  to  me;  per 
haps  my  more  congenial  work  as  a  "reader"  had 
unfitted  me  for  work  at  the  table.  And,  too,  the 
late  hours  I  was  keeping  made  such  a  sedentary 
occupation  almost  beyond  the  powers  of  will  and 
endurance.  I  often  found  it  hard  to  keep  my 
eyes  open  and  sometimes  had  to  get  up  and  move 
around  to  keep  from  falling  asleep.  I  began  to 
miss  whole  days  from  the  factory,  days  on  which 
I  was  compelled  to  stay  at  home  and  sleep. 

My  luck  at  the  gambling  table  was  varied ; 
sometimes  I  was  fifty  to  a  hundred  dollars  ahead, 
and  at  other  times  I  had  to  borrow  money  from 
my  fellow  workmen  to  settle  my  room  rent  and 


110          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

pay  for  my  meals.  Each  night  after  leaving  the 
dice  game  I  went  to  the  "Club"  to  hear  the  music 
and  watch  the  gayety.  If  I  had  won,  this  was 
in  accord  with  my  mood ;  if  I  had  lost,  it  made  me 
forget.  I  at  last  realized  that  making  cigars  for 
a  living  and  gambling  for  a  living  could  not  both 
be  carried  on  at  the  same  time,  and  I  resolved  to 
give  up  the  cigar-making.  This  resolution  led 
me  into  a  life  which  held  me  bound  more  than  a 
year.  During  that  period  my  regular  time  for 
going  to  bed  was  somewhere  between  four  and  six 
o'clock  in  the  mornings.  I  got  up  late  in  the  af 
ternoons,  walked  about  a  little,  then  went  to  the 
gambling  house  or  the  "Club."  My  New  York 
was  limited  to  ten  blocks;  the  boundaries  were 
Sixth  Avenue  from  Twenty-third  to  Thirty-third 
Streets,  with  the  cross  streets  one  block  to  the 
west.  Central  Park  was  a  distant  forest,  and  the 
lower  part  of  the  city  a  foreign  land.  I  look 
back  upon  the  life  I  then  led  with  a  shudder  when 
I  think  what  would  have  been  had  I  not  escaped 
it.  But  had  I  not  escaped  it,  I  would  have  been 
no  more  unfortunate  than  are  many  young  col 
ored  men  whp  come  to  New  York.  During  that 
dark  period  I  became  acquainted  with  a  score  of 
bright,  intelligent  young  fellows  who  had  come 
up  to  the  great  city  with  high  hopes  and  ambi 
tions,  and  who  had  fallen  under  the  spell  of  this 
under  life,  a  spell  they  could  not  throw  off. 
There  was  one  popularly  known  as  "the  doctor"; 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  111 

he  had  had  two  years  in  the  Harvard  Medical 
School ;  but  here  he  was,  living  this  gas-light  life, 
his  will  and  moral  sense  so  enervated  and  dead 
ened  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  break  away. 
I  do  not  doubt  that  the  same  thing  is  going  on 
now,  but  I  have  rather  sympathy  than  censure  for 
these  victims,  for  I  know  how  easy  it  is  to  slip 
into  a  slough  from  which  it  takes  a  herculean  ef 
fort  to  leap. 

I  regret  that  I  cannot  contrast  my  views  of  life 
among  colored  people  of  New  York ;  but  the  truth 
is,  during  my  entire  stay  in  this  city  I  did  not 
become  acquainted  with  a  single  respectable  fam 
ily.  I  knew  that  there  were  several  colored  men 
worth  a  hundred  or  so  thousand  dollars  each,  and 
some  families  who  proudly  dated  their  free  an 
cestry  back  a  half-dozen  generations.  I  also 
learned  that  in  Brooklyn  there  lived  quite  a  large 
colony  in  comfortable  homes,  most  of  which  they 
owned;  but  at  no  point  did  my  life  come  in  con 
tact  with  theirs. 

In  my  gambling  experiences  I  passed  through 
all  the  states  and  conditions  that  a  gambler  is 
heir  to.  Some  days  found  me  able  to  peel  ten 
and  twenty  dollar  bills  from  a  roll,  and  others 
found  me  clad  in  a  linen  duster  and  carpet  slip 
pers.  I  finally  caught  up  another  method  of 
earning  money,  and  so  did  not  have  to  depend  en 
tirely  upon  the  caprices  of  fortune  at  the  gaming 
table.  Through  continually  listening  to  the  mu- 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

sic  at  the  "Club,"  and  through  my  own  previous 
training,  my  natural  talent  and  perseverance,  I 
developed  into  a  remarkable  player  of  ragtime; 
indeed,  I  had  the  name  at  that  time  of  being  the 
best  ragtime  player  in  New  York.  I  brought  all 
my  knowledge  of  classic  music  to  bear  and,  in  so 
doing,  achieved  some  novelties  which  pleased  and 
even  astonished  my  listeners.  It  was  I  who  first 
made  ragtime  transcriptions  of  familiar  classic 
selections.  I  used  to  play  Mendelssohn's  "Wed 
ding  March"  in  a  manner  that  never  failed  to 
arouse  enthusiasm  among  the  patrons  of  the 
"Club."  Very  few  nights  passed  during  which  I 
was  not  asked  to  play  it.  It  was  no  secret  that 
the  great  increase  in  slumming  visitors  was  due 
to  my  playing.  By  mastering  ragtime  I  gained 
several  things ;  first  of  all,  I  gained  the  title  of 
professor.  I  was  known  as  the  "professor"  as 
long  as  I  remained  in  that  world.  Then,  too,  I 
gained  the  means  of  earning  a  rather  fair  liveli 
hood.  This  work  took  up  much  of  my  time  and 
kept  me  almost  entirely  away  from  the  gambling 
table.  Through  it  I  also  gained  a  friend  who 
was  the  means  by  which  I  escaped  from  this  lower 
world.  And,  finally,  I  secured  a  wedge  which  has 
opened  to  me  more  doors  and  made  me  a  welcome 
guest  than  my  playing  of  Beethoven  and  Chopin 
could  ever  have  done. 

The  greater  part  of  the  money  I  now  began  to 
earn  came  through  the  friend  to  whom  I  alluded 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  113 

in  the  foregoing  paragraph.  Among  the  other 
white  "shimmers"  there  came  into  the  "Club"  one 
night  a  clean  cut,  slender,  but  athletic  looking 
man,  who  would  have  been  taken  for  a  youth  had 
it  not  been  for  the  tinge  of  gray  about  his  tem 
ples.  He  was  clean  shaven,  had  regular  features, 
and  all  of  his  movements  bore  the  indefinable  but 
unmistakable  stamp  of  culture.  He  spoke  to  no 
one,  but  sat  languidly  puffing  cigarettes  and  sip 
ping  a  glass  of  beer.  He  was  the  center  of  a 
great  deal  of  attention,  all  of  the  old  timers  were 
wondering  who  he  was.  When  I  had  finished 
playing  he  called  a  waiter  and  by  him  sent  me  a 
five  dollar  bill.  For  about  a  month  after  that  he 
was  at  the  "Club"  one  or  two  nights  each  week, 
and  each  time  after  I  had  played  he  gave  me  five 
dollars.  One  night  he  sent  for  me  to  come  to  his 
table ;  he  asked  me  several  questions  about  myself ; 
then  told  me  that  he  had  an  engagement  which  he 
wanted  me  to  fill.  He  gave  me  a  card  containing 
his  address  and  asked  me  to  be  there  on  a  certain 
night. 

I  was  on  hand  promptly,  and  found  that  he  was 
giving  a  dinner  in  his  own  apartments  to  a  party 
of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  and  that  I  was  expected 
to  furnish  the  musical  entertainment.  When  the 
grave,  dignified  man  at  the  door  let  me  in,  the 
place  struck  me  as  being  almost  dark,  my  eyes 
had  been  so  accustomed  to  the  garish  light  of  the 
"Club."  He  took  my  coat  and  hat,  bade  me  take 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

a  seat,  and  went  to  tell  his  master  that  I  had 
come.  When  my  eyes  were  adjusted  to  the  soft 
light  I  saw  that  I  was  in  the  midst  of  elegance 
and  luxury  in  such  a  degree  as  I  had  never  seen ; 
but  not  the  elegance  which  makes  one  ill  at  ease. 
As  I  sank  into  a  great  chair  the  subdued  tone,  the 
delicately  sensuous  harmony  of  my  surroundings 
drew  from  me  a  deep  sigh  of  relief  and  comfort. 
How  long  the  man  was  gone  I  do  not  know;  but 
I  was  startled  by  a  voice  saying,  "Come  this  way, 
if  you  please,  sir,"  and  I  saw  him  standing  by  my 
chair.  I  had  been  asleep ;  and  I  awoke  very  much 
confused  and  a  little  ashamed,  because  I  did  not 
know  how  many  times  he  may  have  called  me.  I 
followed  him  through  into  the  dining-room,  where 
the  butler  was  putting  the  finishing  touches  to  a 
table  which  already  looked  like  a  big  jewel.  The 
doorman  turned  me  over  to  the  butler,  and  I 
passed  with  the  butler  on  back  to  where  several 
waiters  were  busy  polishing  and  assorting  table 
utensils.  Without  being  asked  whether  I  was 
hungry  or  not,  I  was  placed  at  a  table  and  given 
something  to  eat.  Before  I  had  finished  eating  I 
heard  the  laughter  and  talk  of  the  guests  who 
were  arriving.  Soon  afterwards  I  was  called  in 
to  begin  my  work. 

I  passed  in  to  where  the  company  was  gathered, 
and  went  directly  to  the  piano.  According  to  a 
suggestion  from  the  host  I  began  with  classic  mu 
sic.  During  the  first  number  there  was  absolute 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  115 

quiet  and  appreciative  attention,  and  when  I  had 
finished  I  was  given  a  round  of  generous  applause. 
After  that  the  talk  and  the  laughter  began  to  grow 
until  the  music  was  only  an  accompaniment  to  the 
chatter.  This,  however,  did  not  disconcert  me  as 
it  once  would  have  done,  for  I  had  become  accus 
tomed  to  playing  in  the  midst  of  uproarious 
noise.  As  the  guests  began  to  pay  less  attention 
to  me  I  was  enabled  to  pay  more  to  them.  There 
were  about  a  dozen  of  them.  The  men  ranged  in 
appearance  from  a  girlish  looking  youth  to  a  big 
grizzled  man  whom  everybody  addressed  as 
"Judge."  None  of  the  women  appeared  to  be  un 
der  thirty,  but  each  of  them  struck  me  as  being 
handsome.  I  was  not  long  in  finding  out  that 
they  were  all  decidedly  blase.  Several  of  the 
women  smoked  cigarettes,  and  with  a  careless 
grace  which  showed  they  were  used  to  the  habit. 
Occasionally  a  "damn  it !"  escaped  from  the  lips  of 
some  one  of  them,  but  in  such  a  charming  way  as  to 
rob  it  of  all  vulgarity.  The  most  notable  thing 
which  I  observed  was  that  the  reserve  of  the  host 
increased  in  direct  proportion  with  the  hilarity  of 
his  guests.  I  thought  that  there  was  something 
going  wrong  which  displeased  him.  I  afterwards 
learned  that  it  was  his  habitual  manner  on  such 
occasions.  He  seemed  to  take  cynical  delight  in 
watching  and  studying  others  indulging  in  ex 
cess.  His  guests  were  evidently  accustomed  to 
his  rather  non-participating  attitude,  for  it  did 


116          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

not  seem  in  any  degree  to  dampen  their  spirits. 
When  dinner  was  served  the  piano  was  moved 
and  the  door  left  open,  so  that  the  company  might 
hear  the  music  while  eating.  At  a  word  from  the 
host  I  struck  up  one  of  my  liveliest  ragtime 
pieces.  The  effect  was  perhaps  surprising,  even 
to  the  host;  the  ragtime  music  came  very  near 
spoiling  the  party  so  far  as  eating  the  dinner  was 
concerned.  As  soon  as  I  began  the  conversation 
stopped  suddenly.  It  was  a  pleasure  to  me  to 
watch  the  expression  of  astonishment  and  delight 
that  grew  on  the  faces  of  everybody.  These  were 
people, — and  they  represented  a  large  class, — who 
were  ever  expecting  to  find  happiness  in  novelty, 
each  day  restlessly  exploring  and  exhausting 
every  resource  of  this  great  city  that  might  pos 
sibly  furnish  a  new  sensation  or  awaken  a  fresh 
emotion,  and  who  were  always  grateful  to  any 
one  who  aided  them  in  their  quest.  Several  of 
the  women  left  the  table  and  gathered  about  the 
piano.  They  watched  my  fingers,  asked  what 
kind  of  music  it  was  that  I  was  playing,  where  I 
had  learned  it  and  a  host  of  other  questions.  It 
was  only  by  being  repeatedly  called  back  to  the 
table  that  they  were  induced  to  finish  their  din 
ner.  When  the  guests  arose  I  struck  up  my  rag 
time  transcription  of  Mendelssohn's  "Wedding 
March,"  playing  it  with  terrific  chromatic  octave 
runs  in  the  base.  This  raised  everybody's  spir 
its  to  the  highest  point  of  gayety,  and  the  whole 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  117 

company  involuntarily  and  unconsciously  did  an 
impromptu  cake-walk.  From  that  time  on  until 
the  time  of  leaving  they  kept  me  so  busy  that  my 
arms  ached.  I  obtained  a  little  respite  when  the 
girlish  looking  youth  and  one  or  two  of  the  la 
dies  sang  several  songs,  but  after  each  of  these 
it  was,  "back  to  ragtime." 

In  leaving,  the  guests  were  enthusiastic  in  tell 
ing  the  host  that  he  had  furnished  them  the  most 
unique  entertainment  they  had  "ever"  enjoyed. 
When  they  had  gone,  my  millionaire  friend, — for 
he  was  reported  to  be  a  millionaire, — said  to  me 
with  a  smile,  "Well,  I  have  given  them  something 
they've  never  had  before."  After  I  had  put  on 
my  coat  and  was  ready  to  leave  he  made  me  take 
a  glass  of  wine ;  he  then  gave  me  a  cigar  and 
twenty  dollars  in  bills.  He  told  me  that  he  would 
give  me  lots  of  work,  his  only  stipulation  being 
that  I  should  not  play  any  engagements  such  as 
I  had  just  filled  for  him,  except  by  his  instruc 
tions.  I  readily  accepted  the  proposition,  for  I 
was  sure  that  I  could  not  be  the  loser  by  such  a 
contract. 

I  afterwards  played  for  him  at  many  dinners 
and  parties  of  one  kind  or  another.  Occasionally 
he  "loaned"  me  to  some  of  his  friends.  And,  too, 
I  often  played  for  him  alone  at  his  apartments. 
At  such  times  he  was  quite  a  puzzle  to  me  until 
I  became  accustomed  to  his  manners.  He  would 
sometimes  sit  for  three  or  four  hours  hearing  me 


118          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

play,  his  eyes  almost  closed,  making  scarcely  a 
motion  except  to  light  a  fresh  cigarette,  and 
never  commenting  one  way  or  another  on  the  mu 
sic.  At  first,  I  used  sometimes  to  think  that  he 
had  fallen  asleep  and  would  pause  in  playing. 
The  stopping  of  the  music  always  aroused  him 
enough  to  tell  me  to  play  this  or  that ;  and  I  soon 
learned  that  my  task  was  not  to  be  considered 
finished  until  he  got  up  from  his  chair  and  said, 
"That  will  do."  The  man's  powers  of  endurance 
in  listening  often  exceeded  mine  in  performing — 
yet  I  am  not  sure  that  he  was  always  listening. 
At  times  I  became  so  oppressed  with  fatigue  and 
sleepiness  that  it  took  almost  superhuman  effort 
to  keep  my  fingers  going ;  in  fact,  I  believe  I  some 
times  did  so  while  dozing.  During  such  moments, 
this  man  sitting  there  so  mysteriously  silent,  al 
most  hid  in  a  cloud  of  heavy-scented  smoke,  filled 
me  with  a  sort  of  unearthly  terror.  He  seemed 
to  be  some  grim,  mute,  but  relentless  tyrant,  pos 
sessing  over  me  a  supernatural  power  which  he 
used  to  drive  me  on  mercilessly  to  exhaustion. 
But  these  feelings  came  very  rarely;  besides,  he 
paid  me  so  liberally  I  could  forget  much.  There 
at  length  grew  between  us  a  familiar  and  warm 
relationship ;  and  I  am  sure  he  had  a  decided  per 
sonal  liking  for  me.  On  my  part,  I  looked  upon 
him  at  that  time  as  about  all  a  man  could  wish 
to  be. 

The  "Club"  still  remained  my  headquarters,  and 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  119 

when  I  was  not  playing  for  my  good  patron  I  was 
generally  to  be  found  there.  However,  I  no 
longer  depended  on  playing  at  the  "Club"  to 
earn  my  living;  I  rather  took  rank  with  the  vis 
iting  celebrities  and,  occasionally,  after  being  suf 
ficiently  urged,  would  favor  my  old  and  new  ad 
mirers  with  a  number  or  two.  I  say,  without  any 
egotistic  pride,  that  among  my  admirers  were  sev 
eral  of  the  best  looking  women  who  frequented  the 
place,  and  who  made  no  secret  of  the  fact  that 
they  admired  me  as  much  as  they  did  my  playing. 
Among  these  was  the  "widow" ;  indeed,  her  atten 
tions  became  so  marked  that  one  of  my  friends 
warned  me  to  beware  of  her  black  companion,  who 
was  generally  known  as  a  "bad  man."  He  said 
there  was  much  more  reason  to  be  careful  because 
the  pair  had  lately  quarreled,  and  had  not  been 
together  at  the  "Club"  for  some  nights.  This 
warning  greatly  impressed  me  and  I  resolved  to 
stop  the  affair  before  it  should  go  any  further ; 
but  the  woman  was  so  beautiful  that  my  native 
gallantry  and  delicacy  would  not  allow  me  to  re 
pulse  her;  my  finer  feelings  entirely  overcame  my 
judgment.  The  warning  also  opened  my  eyes 
sufficiently  to  see  that  though  my  artistic  tem 
perament  and  skill  made  me  interesting  and  at 
tractive  to  the  woman,  she  was,  after  all,  using  me 
only  to  excite  the  jealousy  of  her  companion  and 
revenge  herself  upon  him.  It  was  this  surly  black 
despot  who  held  sway  over  her  deepest  emotions. 


120          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

One  night,  shortly  afterwards,  I  went  into  the 
"Club"  and  saw  the  "widow"  sitting  at  a  table  in 
company  with  another  woman.  She  at  once  beck 
oned  for  me  to  come  to  her.  I  went,  knowing 
that  I  was  committing  worse  than  folly.  She  or 
dered  a  quart  of  champagne  and  insisted  that  I 
sit  down  and  drink  with  her.  I  took  a  chair  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  table  and  began  to  sip  a 
glass  of  the  wine.  Suddenly  I  noticed  by  an  ex 
pression  on  the  "widow's"  face  that  something 
had  occurred.  I  instinctively  glanced  around  and 
saw  that  her  companion  had  just  entered.  His 
ugly  look  completely  frightened  me.  My  back 
was  turned  to  him,  but  by  watching  the  "widow's" 
eyes  I  judged  that  he  was  pacing  back  and  forth 
across  the  room.  My  feelings  were  far  from  be 
ing  comfortable ;  I  expected  every  moment  to  feel 
a  blow  on  my  head.  She,  too,  was  very  nervous; 
she  was  trying  hard  to  appear  unconcerned,  but 
could  not  succeed  in  hiding  her  real  feelings.  I 
decided  that  it  was  best  to  get  out  of  such  a  pre 
dicament  even  at  the  expense  of  appearing  cow 
ardly,  and  I  made  a  motion  to  rise.  Just  as  I 
partly  turned  in  my  chair,  I  saw  the  black  fellow 
approaching;  he  walked  directly  to  our  table  and 
leaned  over.  The  "Widow"  evidently  feared  he 
was  going  to  strike  her,  and  she  threw  back  her 
head.  Instead  of  striking  her  he  whipped  out  a 
revolver  and  fired ;  the  first  shot  went  straight  into 
her  throat.  There  were  other  shots  fired,  but  how 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  121 

many  I  do  not  know ;  for  the  first  knowledge  I  had 
of  my  surroundings  and  actions  was  that  I  was 
rushing  through  the  chop-suey  restaurant  into  the 
street.  Just  which  streets  I  followed  when  I  got 
outside  I  do  not  know,  but  I  think  I  must  have 
gone  towards  Eighth  Avenue,  then  down  towards 
Twenty-third  Street  and  across  towards  Fifth 
Avenue.  I  traveled  not  by  sight,  but  instinc 
tively.  I  felt  like  one  fleeing  in  a  horrible  night 
mare. 

How  long  and  far  I  walked  I  cannot  tell;  but 
on  Fifth  Avenue,  under  a  light,  I  passed  a  cab 
containing  a  solitary  occupant,  who  called  to  me, 
and  I  recognized  the  voice  and  face  of  my  million 
aire  friend.  He  stopped  the  cab  and  asked, 
"What  on  earth  are  you  doing  strolling  in  this 
part  of  the  town?"  For  answer  I  got  into  the 
cab  and  related  to  him  all  that  had  happened. 
He  reassured  me  by  saying  that  no  charge  of  any 
kind  could  be  brought  against  me;  then  added, 
"But,  of  course,  you  don't  want  to  be  mixed  up  in 
such  an  affair."  He  directed  the  driver  to  turn 
around  and  go  into  the  park,  and  then  went  on 
to  say,  "I  decided  last  night  that  I'd  go  to  Eu 
rope  to-morrow.  I  think  I'll  take  you  along  in 
stead  of  Walter."  Walter  was  his  valet.  It  was 
settled  that  I  should  go  to  his  apartments  for 
the  rest  of  the  night  and  sail  with  him  in  the 
morning. 

We  drove  around  through  the  park,  exchanging 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

only  an  occasional  word.  The  cool  air  somewhat 
calmed  my  nerves  and  I  lay  back  and  closed  my 
eyes ;  but  still  I  could  see  that  beautiful  white 
throat  with  the  ugly  wound.  The  jet  of  blood 
pulsing  from  it  had  placed  an  indelible  red  stain 
on  my  memory. 


CHAPTER  IX 

I  did  not  feel  at  ease  until  the  ship  was  well  out 
of  New  York  harbor ;  and,  notwithstanding  the  re 
peated  reassurances  of  my  millionaire  friend  and 
my  own  knowledge  of  the  facts  in  the  case,  I  some 
how  could  not  rid  myself  of  the  sentiment  that  I 
was,  in  a  great  degree,  responsible  for  the  widow's 
tragic  end.  We  had  brought  most  of  the  morn 
ing  papers  aboard  with  us,  but  my  great  fear  of 
seeing  my  name  in  connection  with  the  killing 
would  not  permit  me  to  read  the  accounts,  al 
though,  in  one  of  the  papers,  I  did  look  at  the 
picture  of  the  victim,  which  did  not  in  the  least 
resemble  her.  This  morbid  state  of  mind,  to 
gether  with  seasickness,  kept  me  miserable  for 
three  or  four  days.  At  the  end  of  that  time  my 
spirits  began  to  revive,  and  I  took  an  interest  in 
the  ship,  my  fellow  passengers,  and  the  voyage  in 
general.  On  the  second  or  third  day  out  we 
passed  several  spouting  whales ;  but  I  could  not 
arouse  myself  to  make  the  effort  to  go  to  the 
other  side  of  the  ship  to  see  them.  A  little  later 
we  ran  in  close  proximity  to  a  large  iceberg.  I 
was  curious  enough  to  get  up  and  look  at  it,  and 
I  was  fully  repaid  for  my  pains.  The  sun  was 

123 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

shining  full  upon  it,  and  it  glistened  like  a  mam 
moth  diamond,  cut  with  a  million  facets.  As  we 
passed  it  constantly  changed  its  shape;  at  each 
different  angle  of  vision  it  assumed  new  and  as 
tonishing  forms  of  beauty.  I  watched  it  through 
a  pair  of  glasses,  seeking  to  verify  my  early  con 
ception  of  an  iceberg — in  the  geographies  of  my 
grammar-school  days  the  pictures  of  icebergs  al 
ways  included  a  stranded  polar  bear,  standing 
desolately  upon  one  of  the  snowy  crags.  I  looked 
for  the  bear,  but  if  he  was  there  he  refused  to  put 
himself  on  exhibition. 

It  was  not,  however,  until  the  morning  that  we 
entered  the  harbor  of  Havre  that  I  was  able  to 
shake  off  my  gloom.  Then  the  strange  sights, 
the  chatter  in  an  unfamiliar  tongue  and  the  ex 
citement  of  landing  and  passing  the  customs  of 
ficials  caused  me  to  forget  completely  the  events 
of  a  few  days  before.  Indeed,  I  grew  so  light- 
hearted  that  when  I  caught  my  first  sight  of  the 
train  which  was  to  take  us  to  Paris,  I  enjoyed  a 
hearty  laugh.  The  toy-looking  engine,  the  stuffy 
little  compartment  cars  with  tiny,  old-fashioned 
wheels,  struck  me  as  being  extremely  funny.  But 
before  we  reached  Paris  my  respect  for  our  train 
rose  considerably.  I  found  that  the  "tiny"  en 
gine  made  remarkably  fast  time,  and  that  the  old- 
fashioned  wheels  ran  very  smoothly.  I  even  be 
gan  to  appreciate  the  "stuffy"  cars  for  their  pri- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  125 

vacy.  As  I  watched  the  passing  scenery  from  the 
car  window  it  seemed  too  beautiful  to  be  real. 
The  bright-colored  houses  against  the  green  back 
ground  impressed  me  as  the  work  of  some  ideal 
istic  painter.  Before  we  arrived  in  Paris  there 
was  awakened  in  my  heart  a  love  for  France 
which  continued  to  grow  stronger,  a  love  which  to 
day  makes  that  country  for  me  the  one  above  all 
others  to  be  desired. 

We  rolled  into  the  station  Saint  Lazare  about 
four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  drove  immedi 
ately  to  the  Hotel  Continental.  My  benefactor, 
humoring  my  curiosity  and  enthusiasm,  which 
seemed  to  please  him  very  much,  suggested  that 
we  take  a  short  walk  before  dinner.  We  stepped 
out  of  the  hotel  and  turned  to  the  right  into  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli.  When  the  vista  of  the  Place  de 
la  Concorde  and  the  Champs  Elysees  suddenly 
burst  on  me  I  could  hardly  credit  my  own  eyes. 
I  shall  attempt  no  such  superogatory  task  as  a 
description  of  Paris.  I  wish  only  to  give  briefly 
the  impressions  which  that  wonderful  city  made 
upon  me.  It  impressed  me  as  the  perfect  and 
perfectly  beautiful  city ;  and  even  after  I  had  been 
there  for  some  time,  and  seen  not  only  its  avenues 
and  palaces,  but  its  most  squalid  alleys  and  hov 
els,  this  impression  was  not  weakened.  Paris  be 
came  for  me  a  charmed  spot,  and  whenever  I  have 
returned  there  I  have  fallen  under  the  spell,  a 


126          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

spell  which  compels  admiration  for  all  of  its  man 
ners  and  customs  and  justification  of  even  its  fol 
lies  and  sins. 

We  walked  a  short  distance  up  the  Champs 
Elysees  and  sat  for  a  while  in  chairs  along  the 
sidewalk,  watching  the  passing  crowds  on  foot  and 
in  carriages.  It  was  with  reluctance  that  I  went 
back  to  the  hotel  for  dinner.  After  dinner  we 
went  to  one  of  the  summer  theaters,  and  after  the 
performance  my  friend  took  me  to  a  large  cafe 
on  one  of  the  grand  boulevards.  Here  it  was  that 
I  had  my  first  glimpse  of  the  French  life  of  popu 
lar  literature,  so  different  from  real  French  life. 
There  were  several  hundred  people,  men  and 
women,  in  the  place  drinking,  smoking,  talking, 
and  listening  to  the  music.  My  millionaire  friend 
and  I  took  seats  at  a  table  where  we  sat  smoking 
and  watching  the  crowd.  It  was  not  long  before 
we  were  joined  by  two  or  three  good-looking,  well- 
dressed  young  women.  My  friend  talked  to  them 
in  French  and  bought  drinks  for  the  whole  party. 
I  tried  to  recall  my  high  school  French,  but  the 
effort  availed  me  little.  I  could  stammer  out  a 
few  phrases,  but,  very  naturally,  could  not  un 
derstand  a  word  that  was  said  to  me.  We  stayed 
at  the  cafe  a  couple  of  hours,  then  went  back  to 
the  hotel.  The  next  day  we  spent  several  hours 
in  the  shops  and  at  the  tailors.  I  had  no  clothes 
except  what  I  had  been  able  to  gather  together 
at  my  benefactor's  apartments  the  night  before 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  127 

we  sailed.  He  bought  me  the  same  kind  of  clothes 
which  he  himself  wore,  and  that  was  the  best ;  and 
he  treated  me  in  every  way  as  he  dressed  me,  as 
an  equal,  not  as  a  servant.  In  fact,  I  don't 
think  anyone  could  have  guessed  that  such  a  re 
lation  existed.  My  duties  were  light  and  few,  and 
he  was  a  man  full  of  life  and  vigor,  who  rather 
enjoyed  doing  things  for  himself.  He  kept  me 
supplied  with  money  far  beyond  what  ordinary 
wages  would  have  amounted  to.  For  the  first  two 
weeks  we  were  together  almost  constantly,  seeing 
the  sights,  sights  old  to  him,  but  from  which  he 
seemed  to  get  new  pleasure  in  showing  them  to 
me.  During  the  day  we  took  in  the  places  of  in 
terest,  and  at  night  the  theaters  and  cafes.  This 
sort  of  life  appealed  to  me  as  ideal,  and  I  asked 
him  one  day  how  long  he  intended  to  stay  in 
Paris.  He  answered,  "Oh,  until  I  get  tired  of 
it."  I  could  not  understand  how  that  could  ever 
happen.  As  it  was,  including  several  short  trips 
to  the  Mediterranean,  to  Spain,  to  Brussels,  and 
to  Ostend,  we  did  remain  there  fourteen  or  fifteen 
months.  We  stayed  at  the  Hotel  Continental 
about  two  months  of  this  time.  Then  my  million 
aire  took  apartments,  hired  a  piano,  and  lived  al 
most  the  same  life  he  lived  in  New  York.  He  en 
tertained  a  great  deal,  some  of  the  parties  being 
a  good  deal  more  blase  than  the  New  York  ones. 
I  played  for  the  guests  at  all  of  them  with  an  ef 
fect  which  to  relate  would  be  but  a  tiresome  repe- 


128         THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

tition  to  the  reader.  I  played  not  only  for  the 
guests,  but  continued,  as  I  used  to  do  in  New 
York,  to  play  often  for  the  host  when  he  was 
alone.  This  man  of  the  world,  who  grew  weary 
of  everything,  and  was  always  searching  for 
something  new,  appeared  never  to  grow  tired  of 
my  music ;  he  seemed  to  take  it  as  a  drug.  He  fell 
into  a  habit  which  caused  me  no  little  annoyance ; 
sometimes  he  would  come  in  during  the  early 
hours  of  the  morning,  and  finding  me  in  bed 
asleep,  would  wake  me  up  and  ask  me  to  play 
something.  This,  so  far  as  I  can  remember,  was 
my  only  hardship  during  my  whole  stay  with  him 
in  Europe. 

After  the  first  few  weeks  spent  in  sight-seeing, 
I  had  a  great  deal  of  time  left  to  myself;  my 
friend  was  often  I  did  not  know  where.  When 
not  with  him  I  spent  the  day  nosing  about  all  the 
curious  nooks  and  corners  of  Paris ;  of  this  I  never 
grew  tired.  At  night  I  usually  went  to  some 
theater,  but  always  ended  up  at  the  big  cafe  on  the 
Grand  Boulevards.  I  wish  the  reader  to  know 
that  it  was  not  alone  the  gayety  which  drew  me 
there;  aside  from  that  I  had  a  laudable  purpose. 
I  had  purchased  an  English-French  conversa 
tional  dictionary,  and  I  went  there  every  night  to 
take  a  language  lesson.  I  used  to  get  three  or 
four  of  the  young  women  who  frequented  the  place 
at  a  table  and  buy  beer  and  cigarettes  for  them. 
In  return  I  received  my  lesson.  I  got  more  than 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  129 

my  money's  worth;  for  they  actually  compelled 
me  to  speak  the  language.  This,  together  with 
reading  the  papers  every  day,  enabled  me  within 
a  few  months  to  express  myself  fairly  well,  and, 
before  I  left  Paris,  to  have  more  than  an  ordi 
nary  command  of  French.  Of  course,  every  per 
son  who  goes  to  Paris  could  not  dare  to  learn 
French  in  this  manner,  but  I  can  think  of  no 
easier  or  quicker  way  of  doing  it.  The  acquiring 
of  another  foreign  language  awoke  me  to  the  fact 
that  with  a  little  effort  I  could  secure  an  added 
accomplishment  as  fine  and  as  valuable  as  music; 
so  I  determined  to  make  myself  as  much  of  a  lin 
guist  as  possible.  I  bought  a  Spanish  newspaper 
every  day  in  order  to  freshen  my  memory  on  that 
language,  and,  for  French,  devised  what  was,  so 
far  as  I  knew,  an  original  system  of  study.  I 
compiled  a  list  which  I  termed  "Three  hundred 
necessary  words."  These  I  thoroughly  commit 
ted  to  memory,  also  the  conjugation  of  the  verbs 
which  were  included  in  the  list.  I  studied  these 
words  over  and  over,  much  like  children  of  a  cou 
ple  of  generations  ago  studied  the  alphabet.  I 
also  practiced  a  set  of  phrases  like  the  following : 
"How?"  "What  did  you  say?"  "What  does  the 
word mean  ?"  "I  understand  all  you  say  ex 
cept  ."  "Please  repeat."  "What  do  you 

call  _  _?»  "How  do  you  say  -  -?"  These 
I  called  my  working  sentences.  In  an  astonish 
ingly  short  time  I  reached  the  point  where  the 


ISO         THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

language  taught  itself, — where  I  learned  to  speak 
merely  by  speaking.  This  point  is  the  place 
which  students  taught  foreign  languages  in  our 
schools  and  colleges  find  great  difficulty  in  reach 
ing.  I  think  the  main  trouble  is  that  they  learn 
too  much  of  a  language  at  a  time.  A  French 
child  with  a  vocabulary  of  two  hundred  words  can 
express  more  spoken  ideas  than  a  student  of 
French  can  with  a  knowledge  of  two  thousand.  A 
small  vocabulary,  the  smaller  the  better,  which  em 
braces  the  common,  everyday-used  ideas,  thor 
oughly  mastered,  is  the  key  to  a  language.  When 
that  much  is  acquired  the  vocabulary  can  be  in 
creased  simply  by  talking.  And  it  is  easy.  Who 
cannot  commit  three  hundred  words  to  memory? 
Later  I  tried  my  method,  if  I  may  so  term  it,  with 
German,  and  found  that  it  worked  in  the  same 
way. 

I  spent  a  good  many  evenings  at  the  Grand 
Opera.  The  music  there  made  me  strangely  rem 
iniscent  of  my  life  in  Connecticut,  it  was  an  at 
mosphere  in  which  I  caught  a  fresh  breath  of  my 
boyhood  days  and  early  youth.  Generally,  in  the 
morning,  after  I  had  attended  a  performance,  I 
would  sit  at  the  piano  and  for  a  couple  of  hours 
play  the  music  which  I  used  to  play  in  my  mother's 
little  parlor. 

One  night  I  went  to  hear  "Faust."  I  got  into 
my  seat  just  as  the  lights  went  down  for  the  first 
act.  At  the  end  of  the  act  I  noticed  that  my 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  131 

neighbor  on  the  left  was  a  young  girl.  I  cannot 
describe  her  either  as  to  feature,  color  of  her  hair, 
or  of  her  eyes ;  she  was  so  young,  so  fair,  so 
ethereal,  that  I  felt  to  stare  at  her  would  be  a 
violation;  yet  I  was  distinctly  conscious  of  her 
beauty.  During  the  intermission  she  spoke  Eng 
lish  in  a  low  voice  to  a  gentleman  and  a  lady  who 
sat  in  the  seats  to  her  left,  addressing  them  as  fath 
er  and  mother.  I  held  my  programme  as  though 
studying  it,  but  listened  to  catch  every  sound  of 
her  voice.  Her  observations  on  the  performance 
and  the  audience  were  so  fresh  and  naive  as  to 
be  almost  amusing.  I  gathered  that  she  was  just 
out  of  school,  and  that  this  was  her  first  trip  to 
Paris.  I  occasionally  stole  a  glance  at  her,  and 
each  time  I  did  so  my  heart  leaped  into  my  throat. 
Once  I  glanced  beyond  to  the  gentleman  who  sat 
next  to  her.  My  glance  immediately  turned  into 
a  stare.  Yes,  there  he  was,  unmistakably,  my 
father !  looking  hardly  a  day  older  than  when  I 
had  seen  him  some  ten  years  before.  What  a 
strange  coincidence!  What  should  I  say  to  him? 
What  would  he  say  to  me?  Before  I  had  recov 
ered  from  my  first  surprise  there  came  another 
shock  in  the  realization  that  the  beautiful,  ten 
der  girl  at  my  side  was  my  sister.  Then  all  the 
springs  of  affection  in  my  heart,  stopped  since  my 
mother's  death,  burst  out  in  fresh  and  terrible  tor 
rents,  and  I  could  have  fallen  at  her  feet  and  wor 
shiped  her.  They  were  singing  the  second  act, 


132          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

but  I  did  not  hear  the  music.  Slowly  the  deso 
late  loneliness  of  my  position  became  clear  to  me. 
I  knew  that  I  could  not  speak,  but  I  would  have 
given  a  part  of  my  life  to  touch  her  hand  with 
mine  and  call  her  sister.  I  sat  through  the  opera 
until  I  could  stand  it  no  longer.  I  felt  that  I  was 
suffocating.  Valentine's  love  seemed  like  mock 
ery,  and  I  felt  an  almost  uncontrollable  impulse 
to  rise  up  and  scream  to  the  audience,  "Here, 
here  in  your  very  midst,  is  a  tragedy,  a  real  trag 
edy  !"  This  impulse  grew  so  strong  that  I  be 
came  afraid  of  myself,  and  in  the  darkness  of  one 
of  the  scenes  I  stumbled  out  of  the  theater.  I 
walked  aimlessly  about  for  an  hour  or  so,  my  feel 
ings  divided  between  a  desire  to  weep  and  a  de 
sire  to  curse.  I  finally  took  a  cab  and  went  from 
cafe  to  cafe,  and  for  one  of  the  very  few  times  in 
my  life  drank  myself  into  a  stupor. 

It  was  unwelcome  news  for  me  when  my  bene 
factor — I  could  not  think  of  him  as  employer — 
informed  me  that  he  was  at  last  tired  of  Paris. 
This  news  gave  me,  I  think,  a  passing  doubt  as  to 
his  sanity.  I  had  enjoyed  life  in  Paris,  and,  tak 
ing  all  things  into  consideration,  enjoyed  it  whole 
somely.  One  thing  which  greatly  contributed  to 
my  enjoyment  was  the  fact  that  I  was  an  Ameri 
can.  Americans  are  immensely  popular  in  Paris ; 
and  this  is  not  due  solely  to  the  fact  that  they 
spend  lots  of  money  there;  for  they  spend  just  as 
much  or  more  in  London,  and  in  the  latter  city 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  133 

they  are  merely  tolerated  because  they  do  spend. 
The  Londoner  seems  to  think  that  Americans  are 
people  whose  only  claim  to  be  classed  as  civilized 
is  that  they  have  money,  and  the  regrettable  thing 
about  that  is  that  the  money  is  not  English.  But 
the  French  are  more  logical  and  freer  from  preju 
dices  than  the  British;  so  the  difference  of  atti 
tude  is  easily  explained.  Only  once  in  Paris  did 
I  have  cause  to  blush  for  my  American  citizen 
ship.  I  had  become  quite  friendly  with  a  young 
man  from  Luxembourg  whom  I  had  met  at  the  big 
cafe.  He  was  a  stolid,  slow-witted  fellow,  but,  as 
we  say,  with  a  heart  of  gold.  He  and  I  grew  at 
tached  to  each  other  and  were  together  fre 
quently.  He  was  a  great  admirer  of  the  United 
States  and  never  grew  tired  of  talking  to  me 
about  the  country  and  asking  for  information. 
It  was  his  intention  to  try  his  fortune  there  some 
day.  One  night  he  asked  me  in  a  tone  of  voice 
which  indicated  that  he  expected  an  authoritative 
denial  of  an  ugly  rumor,  "Did  they  really  burn 
a  man  alive  in  the  United  States?"  I  never  knew 
what  I  stammered  out  to  him  as  an  answer.  I 
should  have  felt  relieved  if  I  could  even  have  said 
to  him,  "Well,  only  one." 

When  we  arrived  in  London  my  sadness  at  leav 
ing  Paris  was  turned  into  despair.  After  my 
long  stay  in  the  French  capital,  huge,  ponderous, 
massive  London  seemed  to  me  as  ugly  a  thing  as 
man  could  contrive  to  make.  I  thought  of  Paris 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

as  a  beauty  spot  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  and  of 
London  as  a  big  freckle.  But  soon  London's 
massiveness,  I  might  say  its  very  ugliness,  began 
to  impress  me.  I  began  to  experience  that  sense 
of  grandeur  which  one  feels  when  he  looks  at  a 
great  mountain  or  a  mighty  river.  Beside  Lon 
don  Paris  becomes  a  toy,  a  pretty  plaything. 
And  I  must  own  that  before  I  left  the  world's 
metropolis  I  discovered  much  there  that  was  beau 
tiful.  The  beauty  in  and  about  London  is  en 
tirely  different  from  that  in  and  about  Paris ;  and 
I  could  not  but  admit  that  the  beauty  of  the 
French  city  seemed  hand-made,  artificial,  as 
though  set  up  for  the  photographer's  camera,  ev 
erything  nicely  adjusted  so  as  not  to  spoil  the 
picture ;  while  that  of  the  English  city  was  rug 
ged,  natural  and  fresh. 

How  these  two  cities  typify  the  two  peoples 
who  built  them !  Even  the  sound  of  their  names 
express  a  certain  racial  difference.  Paris  is  the 
concrete  expression  of  the  gayety,  regard  for 
symmetry,  love  of  art  and,  I  might  well  add,  of 
the  morality  of  the  French  people.  London 
stands  for  the  conservatism,  the  solidarity,  the 
utilitarianism  and,  I  might  well  add,  the  hypocrisy 
of  the  Anglo-Saxon.  It  may  sound  odd  to  speak 
of  the  morality  of  the  French,  if  not  of  the  hypoc 
risy  of  the  English ;  but  this  seeming  paradox  im 
pressed  me  as  a  deep  truth.  I  saw  many  things 
in  Paris  which  were  immoral  according  to  English 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  135 

standards,  but  the  absence  of  hypocrisy,  the  ab 
sence  of  the  spirit  to  do  the  thing  if  it  might  only 
be  done  in  secret,  robbed  these  very  immoralities 
of  the  damning  influence  of  the  same  evils  in  Lon 
don.  I  have  walked  along  the  terrace  cafes  of 
Paris  and  seen  hundreds  of  men  and  women  sip 
ping  their  wine  and  beer,  without  observing  a  sign 
of  drunkenness.  As  they  drank,  they  chatted  and 
laughed  and  watched  the  passing  crowds ;  the 
drinking  seemed  to  be  a  secondary  thing.  This  I 
have  witnessed,  not  only  in  the  cafes  along  the 
Grand  Boulevards,  but  in  the  out-of-way  places 
patronized  by  the  working  classes.  In  London  I 
have  seen  in  the  "Pubs"  men  and  women  crowded 
in  stuffy  little  compartments,  drinking  seemingly 
only  for  the  pleasure  of  swallowing  as  much  as 
they  could  hold.  I  have  seen  there  women  from 
eighteen  to  eighty,  some  in  tatters,  and  some 
clutching  babes  in  their  arms,  drinking  the  heavy 
English  ales  and  whiskies  served  to  them  by 
women.  In  the  whole  scene,  not  one  ray  of 
brightness,  not  one  flash  of  gayety,  only  maudlin 
joviality  or  grim  despair.  And  I  have  thought, 
if  some  men  and  women  will  drink — and  it  is  cer 
tain  that  some  will — is  it  not  better  that  they  do 
so  under  the  open  sky,  in  the  fresh  air,  than  hud 
dled  together  in  some  close,  smoky  room?  There 
is  a  sort  of  frankness  about  the  evils  of  Paris 
which  robs  them  of  much  of  the  seductiveness  of 
things  forbidden,  and  with  that  frankness  goes  a 


136          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

certain  cleanliness  of  thought  belonging  to  things 
not  hidden.  London  will  do  whatever  Paris  does, 
provided  exterior  morals  are  not  shocked.  As  a 
result,  Paris  has  the  appearance  only  of  being 
the  more  immoral  city.  The  difference  may  be 
summed  up  in  this :  Paris  practices  its  sins  as 
lightly  as  it  does  its  religion,  while  London  prac 
tices  both  very  seriously. 

I  should  not  neglect  to  mention  what  impressed 
me  most  forcibly  during  my  stay  in  London.  It 
was  not  St.  Paul's  nor  the  British  Museum  nor 
Westminster  Abbey.  It  was  nothing  more  or  less 
than  the  simple  phrase  "Thank  you,"  or  some 
times  more  elaborated,  "Thank  you  very  kindly, 
sir."  I  was  continually  surprised  by  the  varied 
uses  to  which  it  was  put ;  and,  strange  to  say,  its 
use  as  an  expression  of  politeness  seemed  more 
limited  than  any  other.  One  night  I  was  in  a 
cheap  music  hall  and  accidentally  bumped  into  a 
waiter  who  was  carrying  a  tray-load  of  beer,  al 
most  bringing  him  to  several  shillings'  worth  of 
grief.  To  my  amazement  he  righted  himself  and 
said,  "Thank  ye,  sir,"  and  left  me  wondering 
whether  he  meant  that  he  thanked  me  for  not  com 
pletely  spilling  his  beer,  or  that  he  would  thank 
me  for  keeping  out  of  his  way. 

I  also  found  cause  to  wonder  upon  what  ground 
the  English  accuse  Americans  of  corrupting  the 
language  by  introducing  slang  words.  I  think  I 
heard  more  and  more  different  kinds  of  slang  dur- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  137 

ing  my  few  weeks'  stay  in  London  than  in  my 
whole  "tenderloin"  life  in  New  York.  But  I  sup 
pose  the  English  feel  that  the  language  is  theirs, 
and  that  they  may  do  with  it  as  they  please  with 
out  at  the  same  time  allowing  that  privilege  to 
others. 

My  "millionaire"  was  not  so  long  in  growing 
tired  of  London  as  of  Paris.  After  a  stay  of  six 
or  eight  weeks  we  went  across  into  Holland.  Am 
sterdam  was  a  great  surprise  to  me.  I  had  al 
ways  thought  of  Venice  as  the  city  of  canals ;  but 
it  had  never  entered  my  mind  that  I  should  find 
similar  conditions  in  a  Dutch  town.  I  don't  sup 
pose  the  comparison  goes  far  beyond  the  fact  that 
there  are  canals  in  both  cities — I  have  never  seen 
Venice — but  Amsterdam  struck  me  as  being  ex 
tremely  picturesque.  From  Holland  we  went  to 
Germany,  where  we  spent  five  or  six  months,  most 
of  the  time  in  Berlin.  I  found  Berlin  more  to 
my  taste  than  London,  and  occasionally  I  had  to 
admit  that  in  some  things  it  was  superior  to 
Paris. 

In  Berlin  I  especially  enjoyed  the  orchestral 
concerts,  and  I  attended  a  large  number  of  them. 
I  formed  the  acquaintance  of  a  good  many  musi 
cians,  several  of  whom  spoke  of  my  playing  in 
high  terms.  It  was  in  Berlin  that  my  inspiration 
was  renewed.  One  night  my  "millionaire"  enter 
tained  a  party  of  men  composed  of  artists,  musi 
cians,  writers  and,  for  aught  I  know,  a  count  or 


138          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

two.  They  drank  and  smoked  a  great  deal, 
talked  art  and  music,  and  discussed,  it  seemed  to 
me,  everything  that  ever  entered  man's  mind.  I 
could  only  follow  the  general  drift  of  what  they 
were  saying.  When  they  discussed  music  it  was 
more  interesting  to  me;  for  then  some  fellow 
would  run  excitedly  to  the  piano  and  give  a  dem 
onstration  of  his  opinions,  and  another  would  fol 
low  quickly  doing  the  same.  In  this  way,  I 
learned  that,  regardless  of  what  his  specialty 
might  be,  every  man  in  the  party  was  a  musician. 
I  was  at  the  same  time  impressed  with  the  falsity 
of  the  general  idea  that  Frenchmen  are  excitable 
and  emotional,  and  that  Germans  are  calm  and 
phlegmatic.  Frenchmen  are  merely  gay  and 
never  overwhelmed  by  their  emotions.  When  they 
talk  loud  and  fast  it  is  merely  talk,  while  Germans 
get  worked  up  and  red  in  the  face  when  sustain 
ing  an  opinion ;  and  in  heated  discussions  are 
likely  to  allow  their  emotions  to  sweep  them  off 
their  feet. 

My  "millionaire"  planned,  in  the  midst  of  the 
discussion  on  music,  to  have  me  play  the  "new 
American  music"  and  astonish  everybody  present. 
The  result  was  that  I  was  more  astonished  than 
anyone  else.  I  went  to  the  piano  and  played  the 
most  intricate  ragtime  piece  I  knew.  Before 
there  was  time  for  anybody  to  express  an  opinion 
on  what  I  had  done,  a  big  be-spectacled,  bushy- 
headed  man  rushed  over,  and,  shoving  me  out  of 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  139 

the  chair,  exclaimed,  "Get  up!  Get  up!"  He 
seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and  taking  the  theme 
of  my  ragtime,  played  it  through  first  in  straight 
chords ;  then  varied  and  developed  it  through  every 
known  musical  form.  I  sat  amazed.  I  had 
been  turning  classic  music  into  ragtime,  a  com 
paratively  easy  task;  and  this  man  had  taken 
ragtime  and  made  it  classic.  The  thought 
came  across  me  like  a  flash. — It  can  be  done, 
why  can't  I  do  it?  From  that  moment  my 
mind  was  made  up.  I  clearly  saw  the  way  of 
carrying  out  the  ambition  I  had  formed  when  a 
boy. 

I  now  lost  interest  in  our  trip.  I  thought,  here 
I  am  a  man,  no  longer  a  boy,  and  what  am  I  do 
ing  but  wasting  my  time  and  abusing  my  talent. 
What  use  am  I  making  of  my  gifts?  What  fu 
ture  have  I  before  me  following  my  present  course  ? 
These  thoughts  made  me  feel  remorseful,  and  put 
me  in  a  fever  to  get  to  work,  to  begin  to  do  some 
thing.  Of  course  I  know  now  that  I  was  not  wast 
ing  time ;  that  there  was  nothing  I  could  have 
done  at  that  age  which  would  have  benefited  me 
more  than  going  to  Europe  as  I  did.  The  desire 
to  begin  work  grew  stronger  each  day.  I  could 
think  of  nothing  else.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  go 
back  into  the  very  heart  of  the  South,  to  live 
among  the  people,  and  drink  in  my  inspiration 
first-hand.  I  gloated  over  the  immense  amount 
of  material  I  had  to  work  with,  not  only  modern 


140          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

ragtime,  but  also  the  old  slave  songs, — material 
which  no  one  had  yet  touched. 

The  more  decided  and  anxious  I  became  to  re 
turn  to  the  United  States,  the  more  I  dreaded  the 
ordeal  of  breaking  with  my  "millionaire."  Be 
tween  this  peculiar  man  and  me  there  had  grown 
a  very  strong  bond  of  affection,  backed  up  by  a 
debt  which  each  owed  to  the  other.  He  had  taken 
me  from  a  terrible  life  in  New  York  and  by  giv 
ing  me  the  opportunity  of  traveling  and  of  com 
ing  in  contact  with  the  people  with  whom  he  as 
sociated,  had  made  me  a  polished  man  of  the  world. 
On  the  other  hand,  I  was  his  chief  means  of  dis 
posing  of  the  thing  which  seemed  to  sum  up  all  in 
life  that  he  dreaded — Time.  As  I  remember  him 
now,  I  can  see  that  time  was  what  he  was  always 
endeavoring  to  escape,  to  bridge  over,  to  blot  out ; 
and  it  is  not  strange  that  some  years  later  he  did 
escape  it  forever,  by  leaping  into  eternity. 

For  some  weeks  I  waited  for  just  the  right  mo 
ment  in  which  to  tell  my  patron  of  my  decision. 
Those  weeks  were  a  trying  time  to  me.  I  felt 
that  I  was  playing  the  part  of  a  traitor  to  my 
best  friend.  At  length,  one  day,  he  said  to  me, 
"Well,  get  ready  for  a  long  trip ;  we  are  going 
to  Egypt,  and  then  to  Japan."  The  temptation 
was  for  an  instant  almost  overwhelming,  but  I 
summoned  determination  enough  to  say,  "I  don't 
think  I  want  to  go."  "What!"  he  exclaimed, 
"you  want  to  go  back  to  your  dear  Paris?  You 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  141 

still  think  that  the  only  spot  on  earth?  Wait 
until  you  see  Cairo  and  Tokio,  you  may  change 
your  mind."  "No,"  I  stammered,  "it  is  not  be 
cause  I  want  to  go  back  to  Paris.  I  want  to  go 
back  to  the  United  States."  He  wished  to  know 
my  reason,  and  I  told  him,  as  best  I  could,  my 
dreams,  my  ambition,  and  my  decision.  While  I 
was  talking  he  watched  me  with  a  curious,  almost 
cynical,  smile  growing  on  his  lips.  When  I  had 
finished  he  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder. — This 
was  the  first  physical  expression  of  tender  regard 
he  had  ever  shown  me — and  looking  at  me  in  a 
big-brotherly  way,  said,  "My  boy,  you  are  by 
blood,  by  appearance,  by  education  and  by  tastes, 
a  white  man.  Now  why  do  you  want  to  throw 
your  life  away  amidst  the  poverty  and  ignorance, 
in  the  hopeless  struggle  of  the  black  people  of 
the  United  States?  Then  look  at  the  terrible 
handicap  you  are  placing  on  yourself  by  going 
home  and  working  as  a  Negro  composer ;  you  can 
never  be  able  to  get  the  hearing  for  your  work 
which  it  might  deserve.  I  doubt  that  even  a  white 
musician  of  recognized  ability  could  succeed  there 
by  working  on  the  theory  that  American  music 
should  be  based  on  Negro  themes.  Music  is  a 
universal  art;  anybody's  music  belongs  to  every 
body  ;  you  can't  limit  it  to  race  or  country.  Now, 
if  you  want  to  become  a  composer,  why  not  stay 
right  here  in  Europe?  I  will  put  you  under  the 
best  teachers  on  the  continent.  Then  if  you  want 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

to  write  music  on  Negro  themes,  why,  go  ahead 
and  do  it." 

We  talked  for  some  time  on  music  and  the  race 
question.  On  the  latter  subject  I  had  never  be 
fore  heard  him  express  any  opinion.  Between  him 
and  me  no  suggestion  of  racial  differences  had 
ever  come  up.  I  found  that  he  was  a  man  en 
tirely  free  from  prejudice,  but  he  recognized  that 
prejudice  was  a  big  stubborn  entity  which  had  to 
be  taken  into  account.  He  went  on  to  say,  "This 
idea  you  have  of  making  a  Negro  out  of  yourself 
is  nothing  more  than  a  sentiment ;  and  you  do  not 
realize  the  fearful  import  of  what  you  intend  to 
do.  What  kind  of  a  Negro  would  you  make  now, 
especially  in  the  South?  If  you  had  remained 
there,  or  perhaps  even  in  your  club  in  New  York, 
you  might  have  succeeded  very  well;  but  now  you 
would  be  miserable.  I  can  imagine  no  more  dis 
satisfied  human  being  than  an  educated,  cultured 
and  refined  colored  man  in  the  United  States.  I 
have  given  more  study  to  the  race  question  in 
the  United  States  than  you  may  suppose,  and  I 
sympathize  with  the  Negroes  there ;  but  what's  the 
use?  I  can't  right  their  wrongs,  and  neither  can 
you ;  they  must  do  that  themselves.  They  are  un 
fortunate  in  having  wrongs  to  right,  and  you 
would  be  foolish  to  unnecessarily  take  their  wrongs 
on  your  shoulders.  Perhaps  some  day,  through 
study  and  observation,  you  will  come  to  see  that 
evil  is  a  force  and,  like  the  physical  and  chemical 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  143 

forces,  we  cannot  annihilate  it ;  we  may  only  change 
its  form.  We  light  upon  one  evil  and  hit  it  with 
all  the  might  of  our  civilization,  but  only  succeed 
in  scattering  it  into  a  dozen  of  other  forms.  We 
hit  slavery  through  a  great  civil  war.  Did  we 
destroy  it?  No,  we  only  changed  it  into  hatred 
between  sections  of  the  country:  in  the  South,  into 
political  corruption  and  chicanery,  the  degrada 
tion  of  the  blacks  through  peonage,  unjust  laws, 
unfair  and  cruel  treatment;  and  the  degradation 
of  the  whites  by  their  resorting  to  these  practices ; 
the  paralyzation  of  the  public  conscience,  and  the 
ever  overhanging  dread  of  what  the  future  may 
bring.  Modern  civilization  hit  ignorance  of  the 
masses  through  the  means  of  popular  education. 
What  has  it  done  but  turn  ignorance  into  anarchy, 
socialism,  strikes,  hatred  between  poor  and  rich, 
and  universal  discontent.  In  like  manner,  modern 
philanthropy  hit  at  suffering  and  disease  through 
asylums  and  hospitals ;  it  prolongs  the  sufferers' 
lives,  it  is  true;  but  is,  at  the  same  time,  sending 
down  strains  of  insanity  and  weakness  into  future 
generations.  My  philosophy  of  life  is  this :  make 
yourself  as  happy  as  possible,  and  try  to  make 
those  happy  whose  lives  come  into  touch  with 
yours ;  but  to  attempt  to  right  the  wrongs  and 
ease  the  sufferings  of  the  world  in  general,  is  a 
waste  of  effort.  You  had  just  as  well  try  to 
bale  the  Atlantic  by  pouring  the  water  into  the 
Pacific." 


144          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

This  tremendous  flow  of  serious  talk  from  a  man 
I  was  accustomed  to  see  either  gay  or  taciturn  so 
surprised  and  overwhelmed  me  that  I  could  not 
frame  a  reply.  He  left  me  thinking  over  what  he 
had  said.  Whatever  was  the  soundness  of  his 
logic  or  the  moral  tone  of  his  philosophy,  his 
argument  greatly  impressed  me.  I  could  see,  in 
spite  of  the  absolute  selfishness  upon  which  it  was 
based,  that  there  was  reason  and  common  sense 
in  it.  I  began  to  analyze  my  own  motives,  and 
found  that  they,  too,  were  very  largely  mixed  with 
selfishness.  Was  it  more  a  desire  to  help  those  I 
considered  my  people  or  more  a  desire  to  distin 
guish  myself,  which  was  leading  me  back  to  the 
United  States?  That  is  a  question  I  have  never 
definitely  answered. 

For  several  weeks  longer  I  was  in  a  troubled 
state  of  mind.  Added  to  the  fact  that  I  was  loath 
to  leave  my  good  friend,  was  the  weight  of  the 
question  he  had  aroused  in  my  mind,  whether  I 
was  not  making  a  fatal  mistake.  I  suffered  more 
than  one  sleepless  night  during  that  time.  Fi 
nally,  I  settled  the  question  on  purely  selfish 
grounds,  in  accordance  with  my  "millionaire's" 
philosophy.  I  argued  that  music  offered  me  a 
better  future  than  anything  else  I  had  any  knowl 
edge  of,  and,  in  opposition  to  my  friend's  opinion, 
that  I  should  have  greater  chances  of  attracting 
attention  as  a  colored  composer  than  as  a  white 
one.  But  I  must  own  that  I  also  felt  stirred  by 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  145 

an  unselfish  desire  to  voice  all  the  joys  and  sor 
rows,  the  hopes  and  ambitions,  of  the  American 
Negro,  in  classic  musical  form. 

When  my  mind  was  fully  made  up  I  told  my 
friend.  He  asked  me  when  I  intended  to  start. 
I  replied  that  I  would  do  so  at  once.  He  then 
asked  me  how  much  money  I  had.  I  told  him  that 
I  had  saved  several  hundred  dollars  out  of  sums 
he  had  given  me.  He  gave  me  a  check  for  $500, 
told  me  to  write  to  him  care  of  his  Paris  bankers 
if  I  ever  needed  his  help,  wished  me  good  luck,  and 
bade  me  good-by.  All  this  he  did  almost  coldly; 
and  I  often  wondered  whether  he  was  in  a  hurry 
to  get  rid  of  what  he  considered  a  fool,  or  whether 
he  was  striving  to  hide  deeper  feelings  of  sorrow. 

And  so  I  separated  from  the  man  who  was,  all 
in  all,  the  best  friend  I  ever  had,  except  my  mother, 
the  man  who  exerted  the  greatest  influence  ever 
brought  into  my  life,  except  that  exerted  by  my 
mother.  My  affection  for  him  was  so  strong,  my 
recollections  of  him  are  so  distinct;  he  was  such 
a  peculiar  and  striking  character,  that  I  could 
easily  fill  several  chapters  with  reminiscences  of 
him ;  but  for  fear  of  tiring  the  reader  I  shall  go 
on  with  my  narration. 

I  decided  to  go  to  Liverpool  and  take  ship  for 
Boston.  I  still  had  an  uneasy  feeling  about  re 
turning  to  New  York;  and  in  a  few  days  I  found 
myself  aboard  ship  headed  for  home. 


CHAPTER  X 

Among1  the  first  of  my  fellow  passengers  of 
whom  I  took  any  particular  notice,  was  a  tall, 
broad-shouldered,  almost  gigantic,  colored  man. 
His  dark-brown  face  was  clean  shaven;  he  was 
well  dressed  and  bore  a  decidedly  distinguished  air. 
In  fact,  if  he  was  not  handsome,  he  at  least  com 
pelled  admiration  for  his  fine  physical  proportions. 
He  attracted  general  attention  as  he  strode  the 
deck  in  a  sort  of  majestic  loneliness.  I  became 
curious  to  know  who  he  was  and  determined  to 
strike  up  an  acquaintance  with  him  at  the  first 
opportune  moment.  The  chance  came  a  day  or 
two  later.  He  was  sitting  in  the  smoking-room, 
with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  which  had  gone  out, 
reading  a  novel.  I  sat  down  beside  him  and,  of 
fering  him  a  fresh  cigar,  said,  "You  don't  mind 
my  telling  you  something  unpleasant,  do  you?" 
He  looked  at  me  with  a  smile,  accepted  the  prof 
fered  cigar,  and  replied  in  a  voice  which  com 
ported  perfectly  with  his  size  and  appearance,  "I 
think  my  curiosity  overcomes  any  objections  I 
might  have."  "Well,"  I  said,  "have  you  noticed 
that  the  man  who  sat  at  your  right  in  the  saloon 
during  the  first  meal  has  not  sat  there  since?" 

146 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  147 

He  frowned  slightly  without  answering  my  ques 
tion.  "Well,"  I  continued,  "he  asked  the  steward 
to  remove  him;  and  not  only  that,  he  attempted 
to  persuade  a  number  of  the  passengers  to  pro 
test  against  your  presence  in  the  dining-saloon." 
The  big  man  at  my  side  took  a  long  draw  from 
his  cigar,  threw  his  head  back  and  slowly  blew  a 
great  cloud  of  smoke  toward  the  ceiling.  Then 
turning  to  me  he  said,  "Do  you  know,  I  don't 
object  to  anyone  having  prejudices  so  long  as 
those  prejudices  don't  interfere  with  my  personal 
liberty.  Now,  the  man  you  are  speaking  of  had 
a  perfect  right  to  change  his  seat  if  I  in  any  way 
interfered  with  his  appetite  or  his  digestion.  I 
would  have  no  reason  to  complain  if  he  removed 
to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  saloon,  or  even  if  he 
got  off  the  ship;  but  when  his  prejudice  attempts 
to  move  me  one  foot,  one  inch,  out  of  the  place 
where  I  am  comfortably  located,  then  I  object." 
On  the  word  "object"  he  brought  his  great  fist 
down  on  the  table  in  front  of  us  with  such  a  crash 
that  everyone  in  the  room  turned  to  look.  We 
both  covered  up  the  slight  embarrassment  with  a 
laugh,  and  strolled  out  on  the  deck. 

We  walked  the  deck  for  an  hour  or  more,  dis 
cussing  different  phases  of  the  Negro  question.  I, 
in  referring  to  the  race,  used  the  personal  pro 
noun  "we" ;  my  companion  made  no  comment  about 
it,  nor  evinced  any  surprise,  except  to  slightly 
raise  his  eyebrows  the  first  time  he  caught  the  sig- 


148          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

nificance  of  the  word.  He  was  the  broadest  minded 
colored  man  I  have  ever  talked  with  on  the  Negro 
question.  He  even  went  so  far  as  to  sympathize 
with  and  offer  excuses  for  some  white  Southern 
points  of  view.  I  asked  him  what  were  his  main 
reasons  for  being  so  hopeful.  He  replied,  "In 
spite  of  all  that  is  written,  said  and  done,  this 
great,  big,  incontrovertible  fact  stands  out, — the 
Negro  is  progressing,  and  that  disproves  all  the 
arguments  in  the  world  that  he  is  incapable  of 
progress.  I  was  born  in  slavery,  and  at  emanci 
pation  was  set  adrift  a  ragged,  penniless  bit  of 
humanity.  I  have  seen  the  Negro  in  every  grade, 
and  I  know  what  I  am  talking  about.  Our  de 
tractors  point  to  the  increase  of  crime  as  evidence 
against  us ;  certainly  we  have  progressed  in  crime 
as  in  other  things ;  what  less  could  be  expected  ? 
And  yet,  in  this  respect,  we  are  far  from  the  point 
which  has  been  reached  by  the  more  highly  civilized 
white  race.  As  we  continue  to  progress,  crime 
among  us  will  gradually  lose  much  of  its  brutal, 
vulgar,  I  might  say  healthy,  aspect,  and  become 
more  delicate,  refined  and  subtile.  Then  it  will  be 
less  shocking  and  noticeable,  although  more  dan 
gerous  to  society."  Then  dropping  his  tone  of 
irony,  he  continued  with  some  show  of  eloquence, 
"But,  above  all,  when  I  am  discouraged  and  dis 
heartened,  I  have  this  to  fall  back  on:  if  there  is 
a  principle  of  right  in  the  world,  which  finally 
prevails,  and  I  believe  that  there  is ;  if  there  is  a 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  149 

merciful  but  justice-loving  God  in  heaven,  and 
I  believe  that  there  is,  we  shall  win ;  for  we  have 
right  on  our  side;  while  those  who  oppose  us  can 
defend  themselves  by  nothing  in  the  moral  law, 
nor  even  by  anything  in  the  enlightened  thought 
of  the  present  age." 

For  several  days,  together  with  other  topics,  we 
discussed  the  race  problem,  not  only  of  the  United 
States,  but  the  race  problem  as  it  affected  native 
Africans  and  Jews.  Finally,  before  we  reached 
Boston,  our  conversation  had  grown  familiar  and 
personal.  I  had  told  him  something  of  my  past 
and  much  about  my  intentions  for  the  future.  I 
learned  that  he  was  a  physician,  a  graduate  of 
Howard  University,  Washington,  and  had  done 
post-graduate  work  in  Philadelphia ;  and  this  was 
his  second  trip  abroad  to  attend  professional 
courses.  He  had  practiced  for  some  years  in  the 
city  of  Washington,  and  though  he  did  not  say 
so,  I  gathered  that  his  practice  was  a  lucrative 
one.  Before  we  left  the  ship  he  had  made  me 
promise  that  I  would  stop  two  or  three  days  in 
Washington  before  going  on  South. 

We  put  up  at  a  hotel  in  Boston  for  a  couple  of 
days,  and  visited  several  of  my  new  friend's  ac 
quaintances  ;  they  were  all  people  of  education  and 
culture  and,  apparently,  of  means.  I  could  not  but 
help  being  struck  by  the  great  difference  between 
them  and  the  same  class  of  colored  people  in  the 
South.  In  speech  and  thought  they  were  genuine 


150          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

Yankees.  The  difference  was  especially  noticeable 
in  their  speech.  There  was  none  of  that  heavy- 
tongued  enunciation  which  characterizes  even  the 
best  educated  colored  people  of  the  South.  It  is 
remarkable,  after  all,  what  an  adaptable  creature 
the  Negro  is.  I  have  seen  the  black  West  India 
gentleman  in  London,  and  he  is  in  speech  and  man 
ners  a  perfect  Englishman.  I  have  seen  natives 
of  Haiti  and  Martinique  in  Paris,  and  they  are 
more  Frenchy  than  a  Frenchman.  I  have  no 
doubt  that  the  Negro  would  make  a  good  China 
man,  with  exception  of  the  pigtail. 

My  stay  in  Washington,  instead  of  being  two 
or  three  days,  was  two  or  three  weeks.  This  was 
my  first  visit  to  the  National  Capital,  and  I  was, 
of  course,  interested  in  seeing  the  public  build 
ings  and  something  of  the  working  of  the  govern 
ment  ;  but  most  of  my  time  I  spent  with  the  doctor 
among  his  friends  and  acquaintances.  The  social 
phase  of  life  among  colored  people,  which  I  spoke 
of  in  an  earlier  chapter,  is  more  developed  in 
Washington  than  in  any  other  city  in  the  country. 
This  is  on  account  of  the  large  number  of  indi 
viduals  earning  good  salaries  and  having  a  reason 
able  amount  of  leisure  time  to  be  drawn  from. 
There  are  dozens  of  physicians  and  lawyers,  scores 
of  school  teachers  and  hundreds  of  clerks  in  the 
departments.  As  to  the  colored  department 
clerks,  I  think  it  fair  to  say  that  in  educational 
equipment  they  average  above  the  white  clerks 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  151 

of  the  same  grade ;  for,  whereas  a  colored  college 
graduate  will  seek  such  a  job,  the  white  university 
man  goes  into  one  of  the  many  higher  vocations 
which  are  open  to  him. 

In  a  previous  chapter  I  spoke  of  social  life 
among  colored  people ;  so  there  is  no  need  to  take 
it  up  again  here.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  did 
not  mention :  among  Negroes  themselves  there  is 
the  peculiar  inconsistency  of  a  color  question. 
Its  existence  is  rarely  admitted  and  hardly  ever 
mentioned;  it  may  not  be  too  strong  a  statement 
to  say  that  the  greater  portion  of  the  race  is  un 
conscious  of  its  influence ;  yet  this  influence,  though 
silent,  is  constant.  It  is  evidenced  most  plainly  in 
marriage  selection;  thus  the  black  men  gener 
ally  marry  women  fairer  than  themselves ;  while, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  dark  women  of  stronger 
mental  endowment  are  very  often  married  to  light- 
complexioned  men ;  the  effect  is  a  tendency  toward 
lighter  complexions,  especially  among  the  more  ac 
tive  elements  in  the  race.  Some  might  claim 
that  this  is  a  tacit  admission  of  colored  people 
among  themselves  of  their  own  inferiority  judged 
by  the  color  line.  I  do  not  think  so.  What  I 
have  termed  an  inconsistency  is,  after  all,  most 
natural;  it  is,  in  fact,  a  tendency  in  accordance 
with  what  might  be  called  an  economic  necessity. 
So  far  as  racial  differences  go,  the  United  States 
puts  a  greater  premium  on  color,  or  better,  lack 
of  color,  than  upon  anything  else  in  the  world. 


152          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

To  paraphrase,  "Have  a  white  skin,  and  all  things 
else  may  be  added  unto  you."  I  have  seen  ad 
vertisements  in  newspapers  for  waiters,  bell  boys 
or  elevator  men,  which  read,  "Light  colored  man 
wanted."  It  is  this  tremendous  pressure  which 
the  sentiment  of  the  country  exerts  that  is  operat 
ing  on  the  race.  There  is  involved  not  only  the 
question  of  higher  opportunity,  but  often  the  ques 
tion  of  earning  a  livelihood ;  and  so  I  say  it  is  not 
strange,  but  a  natural  tendency.  Nor  is  it  any 
more  a  sacrifice  of  self  respect  that  a  black  man 
should  give  to  his  children  every  advantage  he  can 
which  complexion  of  the  skin  carries,  than  that  the 
new  or  vulgar  rich  should  purchase  for  their  chil 
dren  the  advantages  which  ancestry,  aristocracy, 
and  social  position  carry.  I  once  heard  a  colored 
man  sum  it  up  in  these  words,  "It's  no  disgrace  to 
be  black,  but  it's  often  very  inconvenient." 

Washington  shows  the  Negro  not  only  at  his 
best,  but  also  at  his  worst.  As  I  drove  around  with 
the  doctor,  he  commented  rather  harshly  on  those 
of  the  latter  class  which  we  saw.  He  remarked: 
"You  see  those  lazy,  loafing,  good-for-nothing 
darkies,  they're  not  worth  digging  graves  for; 
yet  they  are  the  ones  who  create  impressions  of 
the  race  for  the  casual  observer.  It's  because  they 
are  always  in  evidence  on  the  street  corners,  while 
the  rest  of  us  are  hard  at  work,  and  you  know  a 
dozen  loafing  darkies  make  a  bigger  crowd  and  a 
worse  impression  in  this  country  than  fifty  white 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  153 

men  of  the  same  class.  But  they  ought  not  to 
represent  the  race.  We  are  the  race,  and  the  race 
ought  to  be  judged  by  us,  not  by  them.  Every 
race  and  every  nation  is  judged  by  the  best  it  has 
been  able  to  produce,  not  by  the  worst." 

The  recollection  of  my  stay  in  Washington  is  a 
pleasure  to  me  now.  In  company  with  the  doctor 
I  visited  Howard  University,  the  public  schools, 
the  excellent  colored  hospital,  with  which  he  was  in 
some  way  connected,  if  I  remember  correctly,  and 
many  comfortable  and  even  elegant  homes.  It  was 
with  some  reluctance  that  I  continued  my  journey 
south.  The  doctor  was  very  kind  in  giving  me 
letters  to  people  in  Richmond  and  Nashville  when 
I  told  him  that  I  intended  to  stop  in  both  of  these 
cities.  In  Richmond  a  man  who  was  then  editing 
a  very  creditable  colored  newspaper,  gave  me  a 
great  deal  of  his  time,  and  made  my  stay  there  of 
three  or  four  days  very  pleasant.  In  Nashville  I 
spent  a  whole  day  at  Fisk  University,  the  home  of 
the  "Jubilee  Singers,"  and  was  more  than  repaid 
for  my  time.  Among  my  letters  of  introduction 
was  one  to  a  very  prosperous  physician.  He  drove 
me  about  the  city  and  introduced  me  to  a  number 
of  people.  From  Nashville  I  went  to  Atlanta, 
where  I  stayed  long  enough  to  gratify  an  old  de 
sire  to  see  Atlanta  University  again.  I  then  con 
tinued  my  journey  to  Macon. 

During  the  trip  from  Nashville  to  Atlanta  I 
went  into  the  smoking  compartment  of  the  car  to 


154          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

smoke  a  cigar.  I  was  traveling  in  a  Pullman, 
not  because  of  an  abundance  of  funds,  but  be 
cause  through  my  experience  with  my  "million 
aire,"  a  certain  amount  of  comfort  and  luxury 
had  become  a  necessity  to  me  whenever  it  was 
obtainable.  When  I  entered  the  car  I  found  only 
a  couple  of  men  there ;  but  in  a  half  hour  there 
were  half  a  dozen  or  more.  From  the  general 
conversation  I  learned  that  a  fat  Jewish  looking 
man  was  a  cigar  manufacturer,  and  was  experi 
menting  in  growing  Havana  tobacco  in  Florida ; 
that  a  slender  be-spectacled  young  man  was  from 
Ohio  and  a  professor  in  some  State  institution  in 
Alabama ;  that  a  white-mustached,  well  dressed 
man  was  an  old  Union  soldier  who  had  fought 
through  the  Civil  War;  and  that  a  tall,  raw- 
boned,  red-faced  man,  who  seemed  bent  on  leaving 
nobody  in  ignorance  of  the  fact  that  he  was  from 
Texas,  was  a  cotton  planter. 

In  the  North  men  may  ride  together  for  hours 
in  a  "smoker"  and  unless  they  are  acquainted 
with  each  other  never  exchange  a  word;  in  the 
South,  men  thrown  together  in  such  manner  are 
friends  in  fifteen  minutes.  There  is  always  pres 
ent  a  warm-hearted  cordiality  which  will  melt 
down  the  most  frigid  reserve.  It  may  be  because 
Southerners  are  very  much  like  Frenchmen  in  that 
they  must  talk;  and  not  only  must  they  talk,  but 
they  must  express  their  opinions. 

The  talk  in   the   car  was  for   a  while  miscel- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  155 

laneous, — on  the  weather,  crops,  business  pros 
pects — the  old  Union  soldier  had  invested  capital 
in  Atlanta,  and  he  predicted  that  that  city  would 
soon  be  one  of  the  greatest  in  the  country — finally 
the  conversation  drifted  to  politics;  then,  as  a 
natural  sequence,  turned  upon  the  Negro  question. 
In  the  discussion  of  the  race  question,  the  di 
plomacy  of  the  Jew  was  something  to  be  admired; 
he  had  the  faculty  of  agreeing  with  everybody 
without  losing  his  allegiance  to  any  side.  He 
knew  that  to  sanction  Negro  oppression  would  be 
to  sanction  Jewish  oppression,  and  would  expose 
him  to  a  shot  along  that  line  from  the  old  soldier, 
who  stood  firmly  on  the  ground  of  equal  rights  and 
opportunity  to  all  men;  yet  long  traditions  and 
business  instincts  told  him,  when  in  Rome  to  act 
as  a  Roman.  Altogether  his  position  was  a  deli 
cate  one,  and  I  gave  him  credit  for  the  skill  he 
displayed  in  maintaining  it.  The  young  pro 
fessor  was  apologetic.  He  had  had  the  same 
views  as  the  G.  A.  R.  man;  but  a  year  in  the 
South  had  opened  his  eyes,  and  he  had  to  confess 
that  the  problem  could  hardly  be  handled  any  bet 
ter  than  it  was  being  handled  by  the  Southern 
whites.  To  which  the  G.  A.  R.  man  responded 
somewhat  rudely  that  he  had  spent  ten  times  as 
many  years  in  the  South  as  his  young  friend,  and 
that  he  could  easily  understand  how  holding  a 
position  in  a  State  institution  in  Alabama  would 
bring  about  a  change  of  views.  The  professor 


156          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

turned  very  red  and  had  very  little  more  to  say. 
The  Texan  was  fierce,  eloquent  and  profane  in 
his  argument  and,  in  a  lower  sense,  there  was  a 
direct  logic  in  what  he  said,  which  was  convincing ; 
it  was  only  by  taking  higher  ground,  by  dealing 
in  what  Southerners  call  "theories"  that  he  could 
be  combatted.  Occasionally  some  one  of  the  sev 
eral  other  men  in  the  "smoker"  would  throw  in  a 
remark  to  reinforce  what  he  said,  but  he  really 
didn't  need  any  help ;  he  was  sufficient  in  himself. 
In  the  course  of  a  short  time  the  controversy 
narrowed  itself  down  to  an  argument  between  the 
old  soldier  and  the  Texan.  The  latter  maintained 
hotly  that  the  Civil  War  was  a  criminal  mistake 
on  the  part  of  the  North,  and  that  the  humilia 
tion  which  the  South  suffered  during  Reconstruc 
tion  could  never  be  forgotten.  The  Union  man 
retorted  just  as  hotly  that  the  South  was  respon 
sible  for  the  war,  and  that  the  spirit  of  unforget- 
fulness  on  its  part  was  the  greatest  cause  of 
present  friction ;  that  it  seemed  to  be  the  one  great 
aim  of  the  South  to  convince  the  North  that  the 
latter  made  a  mistake  in  fighting  to  preserve  the 
Union  and  liberate  the  slaves.  "Can  you  im 
agine,"  he  went  on  to  say,  "what  would  have  been 
the  condition  of  things  eventually  if  there  had 
been  no  war,  and  the  South  had  been  allowed  to 
follow  its  course?  Instead  of  one  great,  pros 
perous  country  with  nothing  before  it  but  the  con 
quests  of  peace,  a  score  of  petty  republics,  as  in 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  157 

Central  and  South  America,  wasting  their  ener 
gies  in  war  with  each  other  or  in  revolutions." 

"Well,"  replied  the  Texan,  "anything — no 
country  at  all  is  better  than  having  niggers  over 
you.  But  anyhow,  the  war  was  fought  and  the 
niggers  were  freed ;  for  it's  no  use  beating  around 
the  bush,  the  niggers,  and  not  the  Union,  was  the 
cause  of  it ;  and  now  do  you  believe  that  all  the 
niggers  on  earth  are  worth  the  good  white  blood 
that  was  spilt?  You  freed  the  nigger  and  you 
gave  him  the  ballot,  but  you  couldn't  make  a  citi 
zen  out  of  him.  He  don't  know  what  he's  voting 
for,  and  we  buy  'em  like  so  many  hogs.  You're 
giving  'em  education,  but  that  only  makes  slick 
rascals  out  of  'em." 

"Don't  fancy  for  a  moment,"  said  the  Northern 
man,  "that  you  have  any  monopoly  in  buying  ig 
norant  votes.  The  same  thing  is  done  on  a  larger 
scale  in  New  York  and  Boston,  and  in  Chicago 
and  San  Francisco;  and  they  are  not  black  votes 
either.  As  to  education  making  the  Negro  worse, 
you  had  just  as  well  tell  me  that  religion  does  the 
same  thing.  And,  by  the  way,  how  many  edu 
cated  colored  men  do  you  know  personally?" 

The  Texan  admitted  that  he  knew  only  one,  and 
added  that  he  was  in  the  penitentiary.  "But," 
he  said,  "do  you  mean  to  claim,  ballot  or  no  ballot, 
education  or  no  education,  that  niggers  are  the 
equals  of  white  men?" 

"That's  not  the  question,"  answered  the  other, 


158          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

"but  if  the  Negro  is  so  distinctly  inferior,  it  is  a 
strange  thing  to  me  that  it  takes  such  tremendous 
effort  on  the  part  of  the  white  man  to  make  him 
realize  it,  and  to  keep  him  in  the  same  place  into 
which  inferior  men  naturally  fall.  However,  let 
us  grant  for  sake  of  argument  that  the  Negro  is 
inferior  in  every  respect  to  the  white  man;  that 
fact  only  increases  our  moral  responsibility  in  re 
gard  to  our  actions  toward  him.  Inequalities  of 
numbers,  wealth  and  power,  even  of  intelligence 
and  morals,  should  make  no  difference  in  the  es 
sential  rights  of  men." 

"If  he's  inferior  and  weaker,  and  is  shoved  to 
the  wall,  that's  his  own  look  out,"  said  the  Texan. 
"That's  the  law  of  nature ;  and  he's  bound  to  go 
to  the  wall ;  for  no  race  in  the  world  has  ever  been 
able  to  stand  competition  with  the  Anglo-Saxon. 
The  Anglo-Saxon  race  has  always  been  and  al 
ways  will  be  the  masters  of  the  world,  and  the 
niggers  in  the  South  ain't  going  to  change  all 
the  records  of  history." 

"My  friend,"  said  the  old  soldier  slowly,  "if 
you  have  studied  history,  will  you  tell  me,  as  con 
fidentially  between  white  men,  what  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  has  ever  done?" 

The  Texan  was  too  much  astonished  by  the 
question  to  venture  any  reply. 

His  opponent  continued,  "Can  you  name  a 
single  one  of  the  great  fundamental  and  original 
intellectual  achievements  which  have  raised  man 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  159 

in  the  scale  of  civilization  that  may  be  credited 
to  the  Anglo-Saxon?  The  art  of  letters,  of 
poetry,  of  music,  of  sculpture,  of  painting,  of  the 
drama,  of  architecture;  the  science  of  mathe 
matics,  of  astronomy,  of  philosophy,  of  logic,  of 
physics,  of  chemistry,  the  use  of  the  metals  and 
the  principles  of  mechanics,  were  all  invented  or 
discovered  by  darker  and  what  we  now  call  in 
ferior  races  and  nations.  We  have  carried  many 
of  these  to  their  highest  point  of  perfection,  but 
the  foundation  was  laid  by  others.  Do  you  know 
the  only  original  contribution  to  civilization  we 
can  claim  is  what  we  have  done  in  steam  and 
electricity  and  in  making  implements  of  war  more 
deadly ;  and  there  we  worked  largely  on  principles 
which  we  did  not  discover.  Why,  we  didn't  even 
originate  the  religion  we  use.  We  are  a  great 
race,  the  greatest  in  the  world  to-day,  but  we 
ought  to  remember  that  we  are  standing  on  a 
pile  of  past  races,  and  enjoy  our  position  with  a 
little  less  show  of  arrogance.  We  are  simply  hav 
ing  our  turn  at  the  game,  and  we  were  a  long  time 
getting  to  it.  After  all,  racial  supremacy  is 
merely  a  matter  of  dates  in  history.  The  man 
here  who  belongs  to  what  is,  all  in  all,  the  greatest 
race  the  world  ever  produced,  is  almost  ashamed 
to  own  it.  If  the  Anglo-Saxon  is  the  source  of 
everything  good  and  great  in  the  human  race 
from  the  beginning,  why  wasn't  the  German  forest 
the  birthplace  of  civilization?" 


160         THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

The  Texan  was  somewhat  disconcerted,  for  the 
argument  had  passed  a  little  beyond  his  limits, 
but  he  swung  it  back  to  where  he  was  sure  of  his 
ground  by  saying,  "All  that  may  be  true,  but  it 
hasn't  got  much  to  do  with  us  and  the  niggers 
here  in  the  South.  We've  got  'em  here,  and  we've 
got  'em  to  live  with,  and  it's  a  question  of  white 
man  or  nigger,  no  middle  ground.  You  want  us 
to  treat  niggers  as  equals.  Do  you  want  to  see 
'em  sitting  around  in  our  parlors?  Do  you  want 
to  see  a  mulatto  South?  To  bring  it  right  home 
to  you,  would  you  let  your  daughter  marry  a 
nigger?" 

"No,  I  wouldn't  consent  to  my  daughter's  mar 
rying  a  nigger,  but  that  doesn't  prevent  my  treat 
ing  a  black  man  fairly.  And  I  don't  see  what 
fair  treatment  has  to  do  with  niggers  sitting 
around  in  your  parlors ;  they  can't  come  there  un 
less  they're  invited.  Out  of  all  the  white  men  I 
know,  only  a  hundred  or  so  have  the  privilege  of 
sitting  around  in  my  parlor.  As  to  the  mulatto 
South,  if  you  Southerners  have  one  boast  that  is 
stronger  than  another,  it  is  your  women ;  you  put 
them  on  a  pinnacle  of  purity  and  virtue  and  bow 
down  in  a  chivalric  worship  before  them ;  yet  you 
talk  and  act  as  though,  should  you  treat  the  Negro 
fairly  and  take  the  anti-intermarriage  laws  off 
your  statute  books,  these  same  women  would  rush 
into  the  arms  of  black  lovers  and  husbands.  It's 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  161 

a  wonder  to  me  that  they  don't  rise  up  and  resent 
the  insult." 

"Colonel,"  said  the  Texan,  as  he  reached  into 
his  handbag  and  brought  out  a  large  flask  of 
whiskey,  "you  might  argue  from  now  until  hell 
freezes  over,  and  you  might  convince  me  that 
you're  right,  but  you'll  never  convince  me  that 
I'm  wrong.  All  you  say  sounds  very  good,  but 
it's  got  nothing  to  do  with  facts.  You  can  say 
what  men  ought  to  be,  but  they  ain't  that ;  so 
there  you  are.  Down  here  in  the  South  we're  up 
against  facts,  and  we're  meeting  'em  like  facts. 
We  don't  believe  the  nigger  is  or  ever  will  be  the 
equal  of  the  white  man,  and  we  ain't  going  to 
treat  him  as  an  equal;  I'll  be  damned  if  we  will. 
Have  a  drink."  Everybody,  except  the  professor, 
partook  of  the  generous  Texan's  flask,  and  the 
argument  closed  in  a  general  laugh  and  good  feel 
ing. 

I  went  back  into  the  main  part  of  the  car  with 
the  conversation  on  my  mind.  Here  I  had  before 
me  the  bald,  raw,  naked  aspects  of  the  race  ques 
tion  in  the  South;  and,  in  consideration  of  the 
step  I  was  just  taking,  it  was  far  from  en 
couraging.  The  sentiments  of  the  Texan — and 
he  expressed  the  sentiments  of  the  South — fell 
upon  me  like  a  chill.  I  was  sick  at  heart.  Yet, 
I  must  confess  that  underneath  it  all  I  felt  a 
certain  sort  of  admiration  for  the  man  who  could 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

not  be  swayed  from  what  he  held  as  his  principles. 
Contrasted  with  him,  the  young  Ohio  professor 
was  indeed  a  pitiable  character.  And  all  along, 
in  spite  of  myself,  I  have  been  compelled  to  ac 
cord  the  same  kind  of  admiration  to  the  Southern 
white  man  for  the  manner  in  which  he  defends  not 
only  his  virtues  but  his  vices.  He  knows,  that 
judged  by  a  high  standard,  he  is  narrow  and 
prejudiced,  that  he  is  guilty  of  unfairness,  op 
pression  and  cruelty,  but  this  he  defends  as  stoutly 
as  he  would  his  better  qualities.  This  same  spirit 
obtains  in  a  great  degree  among  the  blacks ;  they, 
too,  defend  their  faults  and  failings.  This  spirit 
carries  them  so  far  at  times  as  to  make  them 
sympathizers  with  members  of  their  race  who  are 
perpetrators  of  crime.  And,  yet,  among  them 
selves  they  are  their  own  most  merciless  critics. 
I  have  never  heard  the  race  so  terribly  arraigned 
as  I  have  by  colored  speakers  to  strictly  colored  au 
diences.  It  is  the  spirit  of  the  South  to  defend 
everything  belonging  to  it.  The  North  is  too  cos 
mopolitan  and  tolerant  for  such  a  spirit.  If  you 
should  say  to  an  Easterner  that  Paris  is  a  gayer 
city  than  New  York  he  would  be  likely  to  agree 
with  you,  or  at  least  to  let  you  have  your  way; 
but  to  suggest  to  a  South  Carolinian  that  Boston 
is  a  nicer  city  to  live  in  than  Charleston  would  be 
to  stir  his  greatest  depths  of  argument  and  elo 
quence. 

But,  to-day,  as  I  think  over  that  smoking-car 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  163 

argument,  I  can  see  it  in  a  different  light.  The 
Texan's  position  does  not  render  things  so  hope 
less,  for  it  indicates  that  the  main  difficulty  of 
the  race  question  does  not  lie  so  much  in  the  actual 
condition  of  the  blacks  as  it  does  in  the  mental 
attitude  of  the  whites ;  and  a  mental  attitude,  es 
pecially  one  not  based  on  truth,  can  be  changed 
more  easily  than  actual  conditions.  That  is  to 
say,  the  burden  of  the  question  is  not  that  the 
whites  are  struggling  to  save  ten  million  despond 
ent  and  moribund  people  from  sinking  into  a  hope 
less  slough  of  ignorance,  poverty  and  barbarity 
in  their  very  midst,  but  that  they  are  unwilling 
to  open  certain  doors  of  opportunity  and  to  ac 
cord  certain  treatment  to  ten  million  aspiring, 
education-and-property-acquiring  people.  In  a 
word,  the  difficulty  of  the  problem  is  not  so  much 
due  to  the  facts  presented,  as  to  the  hypothesis 
assumed  for  its  solution.  In  this  it  is  similar  to 
the  problem  of  the  Solar  System.  By  a  complex, 
confusing  and  almost  contradictory  mathematical 
process,  by  the  use  of  zigzags  instead  of  straight 
lines,  the  earth  can  be  proven  to  be  the  center  of 
things  celestial ;  but  by  an  operation  so  simple 
that  it  can  be  comprehended  by  a  schoolboy,  its 
position  can  be  verified  among  the  other  worlds 
which  revolve  about  the  sun,  and  its  movements 
harmonized  with  the  laws  of  the  universe.  So,  when 
the  white  race  assumes  as  a  hypothesis  that  it  is  the 
main  object  of  creation,  and  that  all  things  else 


164*          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

are  merely  subsidiary  to  its  well  being,  sophism, 
subterfuge,  perversion  of  conscience,  arrogance, 
injustice,  oppression,  cruelty,  sacrifice  of  human 
blood,  all  are  required  to  maintain  the  position, 
and  its  dealings  with  other  races  become  indeed  a 
problem,  a  problem  which,  if  based  on  a  hypothe 
sis  of  common  humanity,  could  be  solved  by  the 
simple  rules  of  justice. 

When  I  reached  Macon  I  decided  to  leave  my 
trunk  and  all  my  surplus  belongings,  to  pack  my 
bag,  and  strike  out  into  the  interior.  This  I 
did ;  and  by  train,  by  mule  and  ox-cart,  I  traveled 
through  many  counties.  This  was  my  first  real 
experience  among  rural  colored  people,  and  all 
that  I  saw  was  interesting  to  me ;  but  there  was  a 
great  deal  which  does  not  require  description  at 
my  hands ;  for  log  cabins  and  plantations  and 
dialect-speaking  darkies  are  perhaps  better  known 
in  American  literature  than  any  other  single  pic 
ture  of  our  national  life.  Indeed,  they  form  an 
ideal  and  exclusive  literary  concept  of  the  Amer 
ican  Negro  to  such  an  extent  that  it  is  almost  im 
possible  to  get  the  reading  public  to  recognize 
him  in  any  other  setting;  but  I  shall  endeavor  to 
avoid  giving  the  reader  any  already  overworked 
and  hackneyed  descriptions.  This  generally  ac 
cepted  literary  ideal  of  the  American  Negro  con 
stitutes  what  is  really  an  obstacle  in  the  way  of 
the  thoughtful  and  progressive  element  of  the 
race.  His  character  has  been  established  as  a 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  165 

happy-go-lucky,  laughing,  shuffling,  banjo-pick 
ing  being,  and  the  reading  public  has  not  yet 
been  prevailed  upon  to  take  him  seriously.  His 
efforts  to  elevate  himself  socially  are  looked  upon 
as  a  sort  of  absurd  caricature  of  "white  civiliza 
tion."  A  novel  dealing  with  colored  people  who 
lived  in  respectable  homes  and  amidst  a  fair  de 
gree  of  culture  and  who  naturally  acted  "just 
like  white  folks"  would  be  taken  in  a  comic  opera 
sense.  In  this  respect  the  Negro  is  much  in  the 
position  of  a  great  comedian  who  gives  up  the 
lighter  roles  to  play  tragedy.  No  matter  how 
well  he  may  portray  the  deeper  passions,  the  pub 
lic  is  loth  to  give  him  up  in  his  old  character ;  they 
even  conspire  to  make  him  a  failure  in  serious 
work,  in  order  to  force  him  back  into  comedy. 
In  the  same  respect,  the  public  is  not  too  much 
to  be  blamed,  for  great  comedians  are  far  more 
scarce  than  mediocre  tragedians ;  every  amateur 
actor  is  a  tragedian.  However,  this  very  fact  con 
stitutes  the  opportunity  of  the  future  Negro  nov 
elist  and  poet  to  give  the  country  something  new 
and  unknown,  in  depicting  the  life,  the  ambitions, 
the  struggles  and  the  passions  of  those  of  their 
race  who  are  striving  to  break  the  narrow  limits 
of  traditions.  A  beginning  has  already  been 
made  in  that  remarkable  book  by  Dr.  Du  Bois, 
"The  Souls  of  Black  Folk." 

Much,   too,   that  I   saw  while  on  this  trip,  in 
spite     of     my     enthusiasm,     was     disheartening. 


166          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

Often  I  thought  of  what  my  "millionaire"  had 
said  to  me,  and  wished  myself  back  in  Europe. 
The  houses  in  which  I  had  to  stay  were  generally 
uncomfortable,  sometimes  worse.  I  often  had  to 
sleep  in  a  division  or  compartment  with  several 
other  people.  Once  or  twice  I  was  not  so  fortu 
nate  as  to  find  divisions ;  everybody  slept  on  pal 
lets  on  the  floor.  Frequently  I  was  able  to  lie 
down  and  contemplate  the  stars  which  were  in 
their  zenith.  The  food  was  at  times  so  distaste 
ful  and  poorly  cooked  that  I  could  not  eat  it.  I 
remember  that  once  I  lived  for  a  week  or  more  on 
buttermilk,  on  account  of  not  being  able  to 
stomach  the  fat  bacon,  the  rank  turnip  tops  and 
the  heavy  damp  mixture  of  meal,  salt  and  water, 
which  was  called  corn  bread.  It  was  only  my 
ambition  to  do  the  work  which  I  had  planned  that 
kept  me  steadfast  to  my  purpose.  Occasionally 
I  would  meet  with  some  signs  of  progress  and  up 
lift  in  even  one  of  these  backwood  settlements — 
houses  built  of  boards,  with  windows,  and  divided 
into  rooms,  decent  food  and  a  fair  standard  of 
living.  This  condition  was  due  to  the  fact  that 
there  was  in  the  community  some  exceptionally 
capable  Negro  farmer  whose  thrift  served  as  an  ex 
ample.  As  I  went  about  among  these  dull,  simple 
people,  the  great  majority  of  them  hard  working; 
in  their  relations  with  the  whites,  submissive,  faith 
ful,  and  often  affectionate,  negatively  content 
with  their  lot,  and  contrasted  them  with  those  of 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  167 

the  race  who  had  been  quickened  by  the  forces  of 
thought,  I  could  not  but  appreciate  the  logic  of 
the  position  held  by  those  Southern  leaders  who 
have  been  bold  enough  to  proclaim  against  the 
education  of  the  Negro.  They  are  consistent  in 
their  public  speech  with  Southern  sentiment  and 
desires.  Those  public  men  of  the  South  who  have 
not  been  daring  or  heedless  enough  to  defy  the 
ideals  of  twentieth  century  civilization  and  of  mod 
ern  humanitarianism  and  philanthropy,  find  them 
selves  in  the  embarrassing  situation  of  preaching 
one  thing  and  praying  for  another.  They  are  in 
the  position  of  the  fashionable  woman  who  is  com 
pelled  by  the  laws  of  polite  society  to  say  to  her 
dearest  enem}^  "How  happy  I  am  to  see  you." 

And  yet  in  this  respect  how  perplexing  is  South 
ern  character;  for  in  opposition  to  the  above,  it 
may  be  said  that  the  claim  of  the  Southern  whites 
that  they  love  the  Negro  better  than  the  Northern 
whites  do,  is  in  a  manner  true.  Northern  white 
people  love  the  Negro  in  a  sort  of  abstract  way, 
as  a  race;  through  a  sense  of  justice,  charity  and 
philanthropy,  they  will  liberally  assist  in  his  ele 
vation.  A  number  of  them  have  heroically  spent 
their  lives  in  this  effort  (and  just  here  I  wish  to 
say  that  when  the  colored  people  reach  the  monu 
ment  building  stage,  they  should  not  forget  the 
men  and  women  who  went  South  after  the  war 
and  founded  schools  for  them).  Yet,  generally 
speaking,  they  have  no  particular  liking  for  in- 


168          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

dividuals  of  the  race.  Southern  white  people  de 
spise  the  Negro  as  a  race,  and  will  do  nothing  to 
aid  in  his  elevation  as  such;  but  for  certain  in 
dividuals  they  have  a  strong  affection,  and  are 
helpful  to  them  in  many  ways.  With  these  'in 
dividual  members  of  the  race  they  live  on  terms  of 
the  greatest  intimacy ;  they  intrust  to  them  their 
children,  their  family  treasures  and  their  family 
secrets ;  in  trouble  they  often  go  to  them  for  com 
fort  and  counsel :  in  sickness  they  often  rely  upon 
their  care.  This  affectionate  relation  between 
the  Southern  whites  and  those  blacks  who  come 
into  close  touch  with  them  has  not  been  overdrawn 
even  in  fiction. 

This  perplexity  of  Southern  character  extends 
even  to  the  mixture  of  the  races.  That  is  spoken 
of  as  though  it  were  dreaded  worse  than  smallpox, 
leprosy  or  the  plague.  Yet,  when  I  was  in  Jack 
sonville  I  knew  several  prominent  families  there 
with  large  colored  branches,  which  went  by  the 
same  name  and  were  known  and  acknowledged  as 
blood  relatives.  And  what  is  more,  there  seemed 
to  exist  between  these  black  brothers  and  sisters 
and  uncles  and  aunts  a  decided  friendly  feeling. 

I  said  above  that  Southern  whites  would  do 
nothing  for  the  Negro  as  a  race.  I  know  the 
South  claims  that  it  has  spent  millions  for  the 
education  of  the  blacks,  and  that  it  has  of  its  own 
free  will  shouldered  this  awful  burden.  It  seems 
to  be  forgetful  of  the  fact  that  these  millions 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  169 

have  been  taken  from  the  public  tax  funds  for 
education,  and  that  the  law  of  political  economy 
which  recognizes  the  land  owner  as  the  one  who 
really  pays  the  taxes  is  not  tenable.  It  would  be 
just  as  reasonable  for  the  relatively  few  land 
owners  of  Manhattan  to  complain  that  they  had 
to  stand  the  financial  burden  of  the  education  of 
the  thousands  and  thousands  of  children  whose 
parents  pay  rent  for  tenements  and  flats.  Let 
the  millions  of  producing  and  consuming  Negroes 
be  taken  out  of  the  South,  and  it  would  be  quickly 
seen  how  much  less  of  public  funds  there  would  be 
to  appropriate  for  education  or  any  other  pur 
pose. 

In  thus  traveling  about  through  the  country, 
I  was  sometimes  amused  on  arriving  at  some  little 
railroad-station  town  to  be  taken  for  and  treated 
as  a  white  man,  and  six  hours  later,  when  it  was 
learned  that  I  was  stopping  at  the  house  of  the 
colored  preacher  or  school  teacher,  to  note  the 
attitude  of  the  whole  town  change.  At  times  this 
led  even  to  embarrassment.  Yet  it  cannot  be  so 
embarrassing  for  a  colored  man  to  be  taken  for 
white  as  for  a  white  man  to  be  taken  for  colored ; 
and  I  have  heard  of  several  cases  of  the  latter 
kind. 

All  this  while  I  was  gathering  material  for 
work,  jotting  down  in  my  note-book  themes  and 
melodies,  and  trying  to  catch  the  spirit  of  the 
Negro  in  his  relatively  primitive  state.  I  began 


170          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

to  feel  the  necessity  of  hurrying  so  that  I  might 
get  back  to  some  city  like  Nashville  to  begin  my 
compositions,  and  at  the  same  time  earn  at  least  a 
living  by  teaching  and  performing  before  my 
funds  gave  out.  At  the  last  settlement  in  which 
I  stopped  I  found  a  mine  of  material.  This  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  "big  meeting"  was  in  prog 
ress.  "Big  meeting"  is  an  institution  something 
like  camp-meeting;  the  difference  being  that  it  is 
held  in  a  permanent  church,  and  not  in  a  tempo 
rary  structure.  All  the  churches  of  some  one  de 
nomination — of  course,  either  Methodist  or  Bap 
tist — in  a  county  or,  perhaps,  in  several  adjoining 
counties,  are  closed,  and  the  congregations  unite 
at  some  centrally  located  church  for  a  series  of 
meetings  lasting  a  week.  It  is  really  a  social  as 
well  as  a  religious  function.  The  people  come  in 
great  numbers,  making  the  trip,  according  to  their 
financial  status,  in  buggies  drawn  by  sleek,  fleet- 
footed  mules,  in  ox-teams,  or  on  foot.  It  was 
amusing  to  see  some  of  the  latter  class  trudging 
down  the  hot  and  dusty  road  with  their  shoes, 
which  were  brand  new,  strung  across  their  shoul 
ders.  When  they  got  near  the  church  they  sat 
on  the  side  of  the  road  and,  with  many  grimaces, 
tenderly  packed  their  feet  into  those  instruments 
of  torture.  This  furnished,  indeed,  a  trying  test 
of  their  religion.  The  famous  preachers  come 
from  near  and  far,  and  take  turns  in  warning 
sinners  of  the  day  of  wrath.  Food,  in  the  form  of 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  171 

those  two  Southern  luxuries,  fried  chicken  and 
roast  pork,  is  plentiful,  and  no  one  need  go 
hungry.  On  the  opening  Sunday  the  women  are 
immaculate  in  starched  stiff  white  dresses  adorned 
with  ribbons  either  red  or  blue.  Even  a  great 
many  of  the  men  wear  streamers  of  vari-colored 
ribbons  in  the  button-holes  of  their  coats.  A  few 
of  them  carefully  cultivate  a  fore  lock  of  hair  by 
wrapping  it  in  twine,  and  on  such  festive  occa 
sions  decorate  it  with  a  narrow  ribbon  streamer. 
Big  meetings  afford  a  fine  opportunity  to  the 
younger  people  to  meet  each  other  dressed  in  their 
Sunday  clothes,  and  much  rustic  courting, 
which  is  as  enjoyable  as  any  other  kind,  is  in 
dulged  in. 

This  big  meeting  which  I  was  lucky  enough  to 
catch  was  particularly  well  attended ;  the  extra 
large  attendance  was  due  principally  to  two  at 
tractions,  a  man  by  name  of  John  Brown,  who 
was  renowned  as  the  most  powerful  preacher  for 
miles  around ;  and  a  wonderful  leader  of  singing, 
who  was  known  as  "Singing  Johnson."  These 
two  men  were  a  study  and  a  revelation  to  me. 
They  caused  me  to  reflect  upon  how  great  an  in 
fluence  their  types  have  been  in  the  development  of 
the  Negro  in  America.  Both  these  types  are  now 
looked  upon  generally  with  condescension  or  con 
tempt  by  the  progressive  element  among  the  col 
ored  people ;  but  it  should  never  be  forgotten  that 
it  was  they  who  led  the  race  from  paganism,  and 


178          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

kept  it  steadfast  to  Christianity  through  all  the 
long,  dark  years  of  slavery. 

John  Brown  was  a  jet  black  man  of  medium 
size,  with  a  strikingly  intelligent  head  and  face, 
and  a  voice  like  an  organ  peal.  He  preached 
each  night  after  several  lesser  lights  successively 
held  the  pulpit  during  an  hour  or  so.  As  far  as 
subject  matter  is  concerned,  all  of  the  sermons 
were  alike ;  each  began  with  the  fall  of  man,  ran 
through  various  trials  and  tribulations  of  the 
Hebrew  children,  on  to  the  redemption  by  Christ, 
and  ended  with  a  fervid  picture  of  the  judgment 
day  and  the  fate  of  the  damned.  But  John 
Brown  possessed  magnetism  and  an  imagination 
so  free  and  daring  that  he  was  able  to  carry 
through  what  the  other  preachers  would  not  at 
tempt.  He  knew  all  the  arts  and  tricks  of  ora 
tory,  the  modulation  of  the  voice  to  almost  a  whis 
per,  the  pause  for  effect,  the  rise  through  light, 
rapid  fire  sentences  to  the  terrific,  thundering  out 
burst  of  an  electrifying  climax.  In  addition,  he 
had  the  intuition  of  a  born  theatrical  manager. 
Night  after  night  this  man  held  me  fascinated. 
He  convinced  me  that,  after  all,  eloquence  con 
sists  more  in  the  manner  of  saying  than  in  what  is 
said.  It  is  largely  a  matter  of  tone  pictures. 

The  most  striking  example  of  John  Brown's 
magnetism  and  imagination  was  his  "heavenly 
march" ;  I  shall  never  forget  how  it  impressed  me 
when  I  heard  it.  He  opened  his  sermon  in  the 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  173 

usual  way;  then  proclaiming  to  his  listeners  that 
he  was  going  to  take  them  on  the  heavenly  march, 
he  seized  the  Bible  under  his  arm  and  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  the  pulpit  platform.  The  con 
gregation  immediately  began  with  their  feet  a 
tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  in  time  with  the  preacher's 
march  in  the  pulpit,  all  the  while  singing  in  an 
undertone  a  hymn  about  marching  to  Zion.  Sud 
denly  he  cried,  "Halt!"  Every  foot  stopped  with 
the  precision  of  a  company  of  well  drilled  soldiers, 
and  the  singing  ceased.  The  morning  star  had 
been  reached.  Here  the  preacher  described  the 
beauties  of  that  celestial  body.  Then  the  march, 
the  tramp,  tramp,  tramp,  and  the  singing  was 
again  taken  up.  Another  "Halt!"  They  had 
reached  the  evening  star.  And  so  on,  past  the 
sun  and  the  moon — the  intensity  of  religious  emo 
tion  all  the  time  increasing — along  the  milky  way, 
on  up  to  the  gates  of  heaven.  Here  the  halt  was 
longer,  and  the  preacher  described  at  length  the 
gates  and  walls  of  the  New  Jerusalem.  Then  he 
took  his  hearers  through  the  pearly  gates,  along 
the  golden  streets,  pointing  out  the  glories  of  the 
City,  pausing  occasionally  to  greet  some  patri 
archal  members  of  the  church,  well  known  to  most 
of  his  listeners  in  life,  who  had  had  "the  tears 
wiped  from  their  eyes,  were  clad  in  robes  of  spot 
less  white,  with  crowns  of  gold  upon  their  heads 
and  harps  within  their  hands,"  and  ended  his 
march  before  the  great  white  throne.  To  the 


174          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

reader  this  may  sound  ridiculous,  but  listened  to 
under  the  circumstances,  it  was  highly  and  ef 
fectively  dramatic.  I  was  a  more  or  less  sophis 
ticated  and  non-religious  man  of  the  world,  but 
the  torrent  of  the  preacher's  words,  moving  with 
the  rhythm  and  glowing  with  the  eloquence  of 
primitive  poetry  swept  me  along,  and  I,  too,  felt 
like  joining  in  the  shouts  of  "Amen!  Hallelu 
jah!" 

John  Brown's  powers  in  describing  the  delights 
of  heaven  were  no  greater  than  those  in  depicting 
the  horrors  of  hell.  I  saw  great,  strapping  fel 
lows,  trembling  and  weeping  like  children  at  the 
"mourners'  bench."  His  warnings  to  sinners  were 
truly  terrible.  I  shall  never  forget  one  expression 
that  he  used,  which  for  originality  and  aptness 
could  not  be  excelled.  In  my  opinion,  it  is  more 
graphic  and,  for  us,  far  more  expressive  than  St. 
Paul's  "It  is  hard  to  kick  against  the  pricks." 
He  struck  the  attitude  of  a  pugilist  and  thundered 
out,  "Young  man,  yo'  arm's  too  short  to  box  wid 
God!" 

As  interesting  as  was  John  Brown  to  me,  the 
other  man,  "Singing  Johnson,"  was  more  so.  He 
was  a  small,  dark-brown,  one-eyed  man,  with  a 
clear,  strong,  high-pitched  voice,  a  leader  of  sing 
ing,  a  maker  of  songs,  a  man  who  could  improvise 
at  the  moment  lines  to  fit  the  occasion.  Not  so 
striking  a  figure  as  John  Brown,  but,  at  "big 
meetings,"  equally  important.  It  is  indispensable 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  175 

to  the  success  of  the  singing,  when  the  congrega 
tion  is  a  large  one  made  up  of  people  from  differ 
ent  communities,  to  have  someone  with  a  strong 
voice  who  knows  just  what  hymn  to  sing  and  when 
to  sing  it,  who  can  pitch  it  in  the  right  key,  and 
who  has  all  the  leading  lines  committed  to  mem 
ory.  Sometimes  it  devolves  upon  the  leader  to 
"sing  down"  a  long-winded,  or  uninteresting 
speaker.  Committing  to  memory  the  leading 
lines  of  all  the  Negro  spiritual  songs  is  no  easy 
task,  for  they  run  up  into  the  hundreds.  But  the 
accomplished  leader  must  know  them  all,  because 
the  congregation  sings  only  the  refrains  and  re 
peats ;  every  ear  in  the  church  is  fixed  upon  him, 
and  if  he  becomes  mixed  in  his  lines  or  forgets 
them,  the  responsibility  falls  directly  on  his  shoul 
ders. 

For   example,   most   of   these   hymns    are   con 
structed  to  be  sung  in  the  following  manner: 

Leader —  "Swing  low,  sweet  chariot." 

Congregation — "Coming  for  to  carry  me  home." 
Leader —  "Swing  low,  sweet  chariot." 

Congregation — "Coming  for  to  carry  me  home." 
Leader —  "I  look  over  yonder,  what  do  I  see?" 

Congregation — "Coming  for  to  carry  me  home." 
Leader —  Two  little;  angels  coming  after  me." 

Congregation — "Coming  for  to  carry  me  home." 
—       etc.,  etc.,  etc. 

The  solitary  and  plaintive  voice  of  the  leader 


176         THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

is  answered  by  a  sound  like  the  roll  of  the  sea, 
producing  a  most  curious  effect. 

In  only  a  few  of  these  songs  do  the  leader  and 
the  congregation  start  off  together.  Such  a  song 
is  the  well  known  "Steal  away  to  Jesus." 

The  leader  and  the  congregation  begin: 


'Steal  away,  steal  away, 
Steal  away  to  Jesus; 
Steal  away,  steal  away  home, 
I  ain't  got  long  to  stay  here." 


Then  the  leader  alone: 

"My  Lord  he  calls  me, 
He  calls  me  by  the  thunder, 
The  trumpet  sounds  within-a  my  soul." 

Then  all  together: 

"I  ain't  got  long  to  stay  here." 

The  leader  and  the  congregation  again  take  up 
the  opening  refrain;  then  the  leader  sings  three 
more  leading  lines  alone,  and  so  on  almost  ad 
infinitum.  It  will  be  seen  that  even  here  most  of 
the  work  falls  upon  the  leader,  for  the  congrega 
tion  sings  the  same  lines  over  and  over,  while  his 
memory  and  ingenuity  are  taxed  to  keep  the 
songs  going. 

Generally,  the  parts  taken  up  by  the  congrega 
tion  are  sung  in  a  three-part  harmony,  the  women 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  177 

singing  the  soprano  and  a  transposed  tenor,  the 
men  with  high  voices  singing  the  melody,  and 
those  with  low  voices,  a  thundering  bass.  In  a 
few  of  these  songs,  however,  the  leading  part  is 
sung  in  unison  by  the  whole  congregation,  down 
to  the  last  line,  which  is  harmonized.  The  effect 
of  this  is  intensely  thrilling.  Such  a  hymn  is  "Go 
down  Moses."  It  stirs  the  heart  like  a  trumpet 
call. 

"Singing  Johnson"  was  an  ideal  leader;  and 
his  services  were  in  great  demand.  He  spent  his 
time  going  about  the  country  from  one  church  to 
another.  He  received  his  support  in  much  the 
same  way  as  the  preachers, — part  of  a  collection, 
food  and  lodging.  All  of  his  leisure  time  he  de 
voted  to  originating  new  words  and  melodies  and 
new  lines  for  old  songs.  He  always  sang  with 
his  eyes, — or  to  be  more  exact — his  eye  closed, 
indicating  the  tempo  by  swinging  his  head  to  and 
fro.  He  was  a  great  judge  of  the  proper  hymn 
to  sing  at  a  particular  moment ;  and  I  noticed 
several  times,  when  the  preacher  reached  a  certain 
climax,  or  expressed  a  certain  sentiment,  that 
Johnson  broke  in  with  a  line  or  two  of  some  ap 
propriate  hymn.  The  speaker  understood,  and 
would  pause  until  the  singing  ceased. 

As  I  listened  to  the  singing  of  these  songs,  the 
wonder  of  their  production  grew  upon  me  more 
and  more.  How  did  the  men  who  originated  them 
manage  to  do  it?  The  sentiments  are  easily  ac- 


173          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

counted  for;  they  are  mostly  taken  from  the 
Bible;  but  the  melodies,  where  did  they  come  from? 
Some  of  them  so  weirdly  sweet,  and  others  so  won 
derfully  strong.  Take,  for  instance,  "Go  down 
Moses."  I  doubt  that  there  is  a  stronger  theme 
in  the  whole  musical  literature  of  the  world.  And 
so  many  of  these  songs  contain  more  than  mere 
melody ;  there  is  sounded  in  them  that  elusive  un 
dertone,  the  note  in  music  which  is  not  heard 
with  the  ears.  I  sat  often  with  the  tears  rolling 
down  my  cheeks  and  my  heart  melted  within  me. 
Any  musical  person  who  has  never  heard  a  Negro 
congregation  under  the  spell  of  religious  fervor 
sing  these  old  songs,  has  missed  one  of  the  most 
thrilling  emotions  which  the  human  heart  may  ex 
perience.  Anyone  who  can  listen  to  Negroes  sing, 
"Nobody  knows  de  trouble  I  see,  Nobody  knows 
but  Jesus,"  without  shedding  tears,  must  indeed 
have  a  heart  of  stone. 

As  yet,  the  Negroes  themselves  do  not  fully  ap 
preciate  these  old  slave  songs.  The  educated 
classes  are  rather  ashamed  of  them,  and  prefer  to 
sing  hymns  from  books.  This  feeling  is  natural ; 
they  are  still  too  close  to  the  conditions  under 
which  the  songs  were  produced ;  but  the  day  will 
come  when  this  slave  music  will  be  the  most  treas 
ured  heritage  of  the  American  Negro. 

At  the  close  of  the  "big  meeting"  I  left  the 
settlement  where  it  was  being  held,  full  of  en 
thusiasm.  I  was  in  that  frame  of  mind  which,  in 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  179 

the  artistic  temperament,  amounts  to  inspiration. 
I  was  now  ready  and  anxious  to  get  to  some  place 
where  I  might  settle  down  to  work,  and  give  ex 
pression  the  ideas  which  were  teeming  in  my  head ; 
but  I  strayed  into  another  deviation  from  my  path 
of  life  as  I  had  it  marked  out,  which  led  me  into 
an  entirely  different  road.  Instead  of  going  to 
the  nearest  and  most  convenient  railroad  station, 
I  accepted  the  invitation  of  a  young  man  who 
had  been  present  the  closing  Sunday  at  the  meet 
ing,  to  drive  with  him  some  miles  farther  to  the 
town  in  which  he  taught  school,  and  there  take 
the  train.  My  conversation  with  this  young  man 
as  we  drove  along  through  the  country  was  ex 
tremely  interesting.  He  had  been  a  student  in 
one  of  the  Negro  colleges, — strange  coincidence, 
in  the  very  college,  as  I  learned  through  him,  in 
which  "Shiny"  was  now  a  professor.  I  was,  of 
course,  curious  to  hear  about  my  boyhood  friend; 
and  had  it  not  been  vacation  time,  and  that  I  was 
not  sure  that  I  would  find  him,  I  should  have  gone 
out  of  my  way  to  pay  him  a  visit;  but  I  deter 
mined  to  write  to  him  as  soon  as  the  school  opened. 
My  companion  talked  to  me  about  his  work  among 
the  people,  of  his  hopes  and  his  discouragements. 
He  was  tremendously  in  earnest ;  I  might  say,  too 
much  so.  In  fact,  it  may  be  said  that  the  ma 
jority  of  intelligent  colored  people  are,  in  some 
degree,  too  much  in  earnest  over  the  race  question. 
They  assume  and  carry  so  much  that  their  prog- 


180          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

ress  is  at  times  impeded,  and  they  are  unable  to 
see  things  in  their  proper  proportions.  In  many 
instances,  a  slight  exercise  of  the  sense  of  humor 
would  save  much  anxiety  of  soul.  Anyone  who 
marks  the  general  tone  of  editorials  in  colored 
newspapers  is  apt  to  be  impressed  with  this  idea. 
If  the  mass  of  Negroes  took  their  present  and  fu 
ture  as  seriously  as  do  the  most  of  their  leaders, 
the  race  would  be  in  no  mental  condition  to  sustain 
the  terrible  pressure  which  it  undergoes ;  it  would 
sink  of  its  own  weight.  Yet,  it  must  be  acknowl 
edged  that  in  the  making  of  a  race  over-serious 
ness  is  a  far  lesser  failing  than  its  reverse,  and 
even  the  faults  resulting  from  it  lean  toward  the 
right. 

We  drove  into  the  town  just  before  dark.  As 
we  passed  a  large,  unpainted  church,  my  compan 
ion  pointed  it  out  as  the  place  where  he  held  his 
school.  I  promised  that  I  would  go  there  with 
him  the  next  morning  and  stay  a  while.  The 
town  was  of  that  kind  which  hardly  requires  or 
deserves  description ;  a  straggling  line  of  brick 
and  wooden  stores  on  one  side  of  the  railroad  track 
and  some  cottages  of  various  sizes  on  the  other 
side  constituted  about  the  whole  of  it.  The  young 
school  teacher  boarded  at  the  best  house  in  the 
place  owned  by  a  colored  man.  It  was  painted, 
had  glass  windows,  contained  "store  bought"  fur 
niture,  an  organ,  and  lamps  with  chimneys.  The 
owner  held  a  job  of  some  kind  on  the  railroad. 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  181 

After  supper  it  was  not  long  before  everybody  was 
sleepy.  I  occupied  the  room  with  the  school 
teacher.  In  a  few  minutes  after  we  got  into  the 
room  he  was  in  bed  and  asleep ;  but  I  took  advan 
tage  of  the  unusual  luxury  of  a  lamp  which  gave 
light,  and  sat  looking  over  my  notes  and  jotting 
down  some  ideas  which  were  still  fresh  in  my 
mind.  Suddenly  I  became  conscious  of  that  sense 
of  alarm  which  is  always  aroused  by  the  sound  of 
hurrying  footsteps  on  the  silence  of  the  night.  I 
stopped  work,  and  looked  at  my  watch.  It  was 
after  eleven.  I  listened,  straining  every  nerve 
to  hear  above  the  tumult  of  my  quickening  pulse. 
I  caught  the  murmur  of  voices,  then  the  gallop 
of  a  horse,  then  of  another  and  another.  Now 
thoroughly  alarmed,  I  woke  my  companion,  and 
together  we  both  listened.  After  a  moment  he 
put  out  the  light,  softly  opened  the  window-blind, 
and  we  cautiously  peeped  out.  We  saw  men  mov 
ing  in  one  direction,  and  from  the  mutterings  we 
vaguely  caught  the  rumor  that  some  terrible  crime 
had  been  committed,  murder!  rape!  I  put  on  my 
coat  and  hat.  My  friend  did  all  in  his  power  to 
dissuade  me  from  venturing  out ;  but  it  was  impos 
sible  for  me  to  remain  in  the  house  under  such 
tense  excitement.  My  nerves  would  not  have 
stood  it.  Perhaps  what  bravery  I  exercised  in 
going  out  was  due  to  the  fact  that  I  felt  sure  my 
identity  as  a  colored  man  had  not  yet  become 
known  in  the  town. 


188          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

I  went  out,  and,  following  the  drift,  reached  the 
railroad  station.  There  was  gathered  there  a 
crowd  of  men,  all  white,  and  others  were  steadily 
arriving,  seemingly  from  all  the  surrounding 
country.  How  did  the  news  spread  so  quickly? 
I  watched  these  men  moving  under  the  yellow 
glare  of  the  kerosene  lamps  about  the  station, 
stern,  comparatively  silent,  all  of  them  armed, 
some  of  them  in  boots  and  spurs ;  fierce,  deter 
mined  men.  I  had  come  to  know  the  type  well, 
blond,  tall  and  lean,  with  ragged  mustache  and 
beard,  and  glittering  gray  eyes.  At  the  first  sug 
gestion  of  daylight  they  began  to  disperse  in 
groups,  going  in  several  directions.  There  was 
no  extra  noise  or  excitement,  no  loud  talking,  only 
swift,  sharp  words  of  command  given  by  those 
who  seemed  to  be  accepted  as  leaders  by  mutual 
understanding.  In  fact,  the  impression  made 
upon  me  was  that  everything  was  being  done  in 
quite  an  orderly  manner.  In  spite  of  so  many 
leaving,  the  crowd  around  the  station  continued 
to  grow;  at  sunrise  there  were  a  great  many 
women  and  children.  By  this  time  I  also  noticed* 
some  colored  people;  a  few  seemed  to  be  going 
about  customary  tasks,  several  were  standing  on 
the  outskirts  of  the  crowd;  but  the  gathering  of 
Negroes  usually  seen  in  such  towns  was  missing. 

Before  noon  they  brought  him  in.  Two  horse 
men  rode  abreast;  between  them,  half  dragged, 
the  poor  wretch  made  his  way  through  the  dust. 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  183 

His  hands  were  tied  behind  him,  and  ropes  around 
his  body  were  fastened  to  the  saddle  horns  of  his 
double  guard.  The  men  who  at  midnight  had 
been  stern  and  silent  were  now  emitting  that  terror 
instilling  sound  known  as  the  "rebel  yell."  A 
space  was  quickly  cleared  in  the  crowd,  and  a  rope 
placed  about  his  neck ;  when  from  somewhere  came 
the  suggestion,  "Burn  him !"  It  ran  like  an  elec 
tric  current.  Have  you  ever  witnessed  the  trans 
formation  of  human  beings  into  savage  beasts? 
Nothing  can  be  more  terrible.  A  railroad  tie 
was  sunk  into  the  ground,  the  rope  was  removed 
and  a  chain  brought  and  securely  coiled  around 
the  victim  and  the  stake.  There  he  stood,  a  man 
only  in  form  and  stature,  every  sign  of  degeneracy 
stamped  upon  his  countenance.  His  eyes  were 
dull  and  vacant,  indicating  not  a  single  ray  of 
thought.  Evidently  the  realization  of  his  fearful 
fate  had  robbed  him  of  whatever  reasoning  power 
he  had  ever  possessed.  He  was  too  stunned  and 
stupefied  even  to  tremble.  Fuel  was  brought  from 
everywhere,  oil,  the  torch ;  the  flames  crouched  for 
an  instant  as  though  to  gather  strength,  then 
leaped  up  as  high  as  their  victim's  head.  He 
squirmed,  he  writhed,  strained  at  his  chains, 
then  gave  out  cries  and  groans  that  I  shall  always 
hear.  The  cries  and  groans  were  choked  off  by 
the  fire  and  smoke ;  but  his  eyes  bulging  from  their 
sockets,  rolled  from  side  to  side,  appealing  in  vain 
for  help.  Some  of  the  crowd  yelled  and  cheered, 


184*          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

others  seemed  appalled  at  what  they  had  done, 
and  there  were  those  who  turned  away  sickened 
at  the  sight.  I  was  fixed  to  the  spot  where  I 
stood,  powerless  to  take  my  eyes  from  what  I  did 
not  want  to  see. 

It  was  over  before  I  realized  that  time  had 
elapsed.  Before  I  could  make  myself  believe  that 
what  I  saw  was  really  happening,  I  was  looking 
at  a  scorched  post,  a  smoldering  fire,  blackened 
bones,  charred  fragments  sifting  down  through 
coils  of  chain,  and  the  smell  of  burnt  flesh — human 
flesh — was  in  my  nostrils. 

I  walked  a  short  distance  away,  and  sat  down 
in  order  to  clear  my  dazed  mind.  A  great  wave 
of  humiliation  and  shame  swept  over  me.  Shame 
that  I  belonged  to  a  race  that  could  be  so  dealt 
with;  and  shame  for  my  country,  that  it,  the 
great  example  of  democracy  to  the  world,  should 
be  the  only  civilized,  if  not  the  only  state  on  earth, 
where  a  human  being  would  be  burned  alive.  My 
heart  turned  bitter  within  me.  I  could  under 
stand  why  Negroes  are  led  to  sympathize  with  even 
their  worst  criminals,  and  to  protect  them  when 
possible.  By  all  the  impulses  of  normal  human 
nature  they  can  and  should  do  nothing  less. 

Whenever  I  hear  protests  from  the  South  that 
it  should  be  left  alone  to  deal  with  the  Negro  ques 
tion,  my  thoughts  go  back  to  that  scene  of  bru 
tality  and  savagery.  I  do  not  see  how  a  people 
that  can  find  in  its  conscience  any  excuse  what- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  185 

ever  for  slowly  burning  to  death  a  human  being, 
or  to  tolerate  such  an  act,  can  be  entrusted  with 
the  salvation  of  a  race.  Of  course,  there  are  in 
the  South  men  of  liberal  thought  who  do  not  ap 
prove  lynching;  but  I  wonder  how  long  they  will 
endure  the  limits  which  are  placed  upon  free 
speech.  They  still  cower  and  tremble  before 
"Southern  opinion."  Even  so  late  as  the  recent 
Atlanta  riot,  those  men  who  were  brave  enough 
to  speak  a  word  in  behalf  of  justice  and  humanity 
felt  called  upon,  by  way  of  apology,  to  preface 
what  they  said  with  a  glowing  rhetorical  tribute 
to  the  Anglo-Saxon's  superiority,  and  to  refer  to 
the  "great  and  impassable  gulf"  between  the  races 
"fixed  by  the  Creator  at  the  foundation  of  the 
world."  The  question  of  the  relative  qualities  of 
the  two  races  is  still  an  open  one.  The  reference 
to  the  "great  gulf"  loses  force  in  face  of  the  fact 
that  there  are  in  this  country  perhaps  three  or 
four  million  people  with  the  blood  of  both  races 
in  their  veins ;  but  I  fail  to  see  the  pertinency  of 
either  statement,  subsequent  to  the  beating  and 
murdering  of  scores  of  innocent  people  in  the 
streets  of  a  civilized  and  Christian  city. 

The  Southern  whites  are  in  many  respects  a 
great  people.  Looked  at  from  a  certain  point  of 
view,  they  are  picturesque.  If  one  will  put  him 
self  in  a  romantic  frame  of  mind,  he  can  admire 
their  notions  of  chivalry  and  bravery  and  justice. 
In  this  same  frame  of  mind  an  intelligent  man  can 


186          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

go  to  the  theater  and  applaud  the  impossible  hero, 
who  with  his  single  sword  slays  everybody  in  the 
play  except  the  equally  impossible  heroine.  So 
can  an  ordinary  peace-loving  citizen  sit  by  a  com 
fortable  fire  and  read  with  enjoyment  of  the 
bloody  deeds  of  pirates  and  the  fierce  brutality  of 
Vikings.  This  is  the  way  in  which  we  gratify 
the  old,  underlying  animal  instincts  and  passions ; 
but  we  should  shudder  with  horror  at  the  mere 
idea  of  such  practices  being  realities  in  this  day 
of  enlightened  and  humanitarianized  thought. 
The  Southern  whites  are  not  yet  living  quite  in 
the  present  age ;  many  of  their  general  ideas  hark 
back  to  a  former  century,  some  of  them  to  the 
Dark  Ages.  In  the  light  of  other  days,  they  are 
sometimes  magnificent.  To-day  they  are  often 
ludicrous  and  cruel. 

How  long  I  sat  with  bitter  thoughts  running 
through  my  mind,  I  do  not  know ;  perhaps  an  hour 
or  more.  When  I  decided  to  get  up  and  go  back 
to  the  house  I  found  that  I  could  hardly  stand  on 
my  feet.  I  was  as  weak  as  a  man  who  had  lost 
blood.  However,  I  dragged  myself  along,  with 
the  central  idea  of  a  general  plan  well  fixed  in  my 
mind.  I  did  not  find  my  school  teacher  friend  at 
home,  so  did  not  see  him  again.  I  swallowed  a 
few  mouthfuls  of  food,  packed  my  bag,  and  caught 
the  afternoon  train. 

When  I  reached  Macon,  I  stopped  only  long 
enough  to  get  the  main  part  of  my  luggage,  and 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  187 

to  buy  a  ticket  for  New  York.  All  along  the 
journey  I  was  occupied  in  debating  with  myself 
the  step  which  I  had  decided  to  take.  I  argued 
that  to  forsake  one's  race  to  better  one's  condi 
tion  was  no  less  worthy  an  action  than  to  forsake 
one's  country  for  the  same  purpose.  I  finally 
made  up  my  mind  that  I  would  neither  disclaim  the 
black  race  nor  claim  the  white  race;  but  that  I 
would  change  my  name,  raise  a  mustache,  and  let 
the  world  take  me  for  what  it  would;  that  it  was 
not  necessary  for  me  to  go  about  with  a  label  of 
inferiority  pasted  across  my  forehead.  All  the 
while,  I  understood  that  it  was  not  discourage 
ment,  or  fear,  or  search  for  a  larger  field  of  ac 
tion  and  opportunity,  that  was  driving  me  out  of 
the  Negro  race.  I  knew  that  it  was  shame,  un 
bearable  shame.  Shame  at  being  identified  with 
a  people  that  could  with  impunity  be  treated  worse 
than  animals.  For  certainly  the  law  would  re 
strain  and  punish  the  malicious  burning  alive  of 
animals. 

So  once  again,  I  found  myself  gazing  at  the 
towers  of  New  York,  and  wondering  what  future 
that  city  held  in  store  for  me. 


CHAPTER  XI 

I  have  now  reached  that  part  of  my  narrative 
where  I  must  be  brief,  and  touch  only  lightly  on 
important  facts ;  therefore,  the  reader  must  make 
up  his  mind  to  pardon  skips  and  jumps  and 
meager  details. 

When  I  reached  New  York  I  was  completely 
lost.  I  could  not  have  felt  more  a  stranger  had 
I  been  suddenly  dropped  into  Constantinople.  I 
knew  not  where  to  turn  or  how  to  strike  out.  I 
was  so  oppressed  by  a  feeling  of  loneliness  that 
the  temptation  to  visit  my  old  home  in  Connecti 
cut  was  well  nigh  irresistible.  I  reasoned,  how 
ever,  that  unless  I  found  my  old  music  teacher,  I 
should  be,  after  so  many  years  of  absence,  as  much 
of  a  stranger  there  as  in  New  York ;  and,  further 
more,  that  in  view  of  the  step  which  I  had  decided 
to  take,  such  a  visit  would  be  injudicious.  I  re 
membered,  too,  that  I  had  some  property  there  in 
the  shape  of  a  piano  and  a  few  books,  but  de 
cided  that  it  would  not  be  worth  what  it  might 
cost  me  to  take  possession. 

By  reason  of  the  fact  that  my  living  expenses 
in  the  South  had  been  very  small,  I  still  had  nearly 
four  hundred  dollars  of  my  capital  left.  In  con- 
188 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  189 

templation  of  this,  my  natural  and  acquired  Bo 
hemian  tastes  asserted  themselves,  and  I  decided 
to  have  a  couple  of  weeks'  good  time  before  worry 
ing  seriously  about  the  future.  I  went  to  Coney 
Island  and  the  other  resorts,  took  in  the  pre-sea- 
son  shows  along  Broadway,  and  ate  at  first  class 
restaurants;  but  I  shunned  the  old  Sixth  Avenue 
district  as  though  it  were  pest  infected.  My  few 
days  of  pleasure  made  appalling  inroads  upon 
what  cash  I  had,  and  caused  me  to  see  that  it  re 
quired  a  good  deal  of  money  to  live  in  New  York 
as  I  wished  to  live,  and  that  I  should  have  to  find, 
very  soon,  some  more  or  less  profitable  employ 
ment.  I  was  sure  that  unknown,  without  friends 
or  prestige,  it  would  be  useless  to  try  to  establish 
myself  as  a  teacher  of  music ;  so  I  gave  that  means 
of  earning  a  livelihood  scarcely  any  consideration. 
And  even  had  I  considered  it  possible  to  secure 
pupils,  as  I  then  felt,  I  should  have  hesitated  about 
taking  up  a  work  in  which  the  chances  for  any 
considerable  financial  success  are  necessarily  so 
small.  I  had  made  up  my  mind  that  since  I  was 
not  going  to  be  a  Negro,  I  would  avail  myself  of 
every  possible  opportunity  to  make  a  white  man's 
success ;  and  that,  if  it  can  be  summed  up  in  any 
one  word,  means  "money." 

I  watched  the  "want"  columns  in  the  news 
papers  and  answered  a  number  of  advertisements ; 
but  in  each  case  found  the  positions  were  such 
as  I  could  not  fill  or  did  not  want.  I  also  spent 


190         THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

several  dollars  for  "ads"  which  brought  me  no 
replies.  In  this  way  I  came  to  know  the  hopes 
and  disappointments  of  a  large  and  pitiable  class 
of  humanity  in  this  great  city,  the  people  who 
look  for  work  through  the  newspapers.  After 
some  days  of  this  sort  of  experience,  I  concluded 
that  the  main  difficulty  with  me  was  that  I  was 
not  prepared  for  what  I  wanted  to  do.  I  then 
decided  upon  a  course  which,  for  an  artist,  showed 
an  uncommon  amount  of  practical  sense  and 
judgment.  I  made  up  my  mind  to  enter  a  busi 
ness  college.  I  took  a  small  room,  ate  at  lunch 
counters,  in  order  to  economize,  and  pursued  my 
studies  with  the  zeal  that  I  have  always  been  able 
to  put  into  any  work  upon  which  I  set  my  heart. 
Yet,  in  spite  of  all  my  economy,  when  I  had  been 
at  the  school  for  several  months,  my  funds  gave 
out  completely.  I  reached  the  point  where  I  could 
not  afford  sufficient  food  for  each  day.  In  this 
plight,  I  was  glad  to  get,  through  one  of  the 
teachers,  a  job  as  an  ordinary  clerk  in  a  down 
town  wholesale  house.  I  did  my  work  faithfully, 
and  received  a  raise  of  salary  before  I  expected 
it.  I  even  managed  to  save  a  little  money  out  of 
my  modest  earnings.  In  fact,  I  began  then  to 
contract  the  money  fever,  which  later  took  strong 
possession  of  me.  I  kept  my  eyes  open,  watching 
for  a  chance  to  better  my  condition.  It  finally 
came  in  the  form  of  a  position  with  a  house  which 
was  at  the  time  establishing  a  South  American  de- 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  191 

partment.  My  knowledge  of  Spanish  was,  of 
course,  the  principal  cause  of  my  good  luck;  and 
it  did  more  for  me ;  it  placed  me  where  the  other 
clerks  were  practically  put  out  of  competition 
with  me.  I  was  not  slow  in  taking  advantage  of 
the  opportunity  to  make  myself  indispensable  to 
the  firm. 

What  an  interesting  and  absorbing  game  is 
money  making!  After  each  deposit  at  my  sav 
ings-bank,  I  used  to  sit  and  figure  out,  all  over 
again,  my  principal  and  interest,  and  make  calcu 
lations  on  what  the  increase  would  be  in  such  and 
such  time.  Out  of  this  I  derived  a  great  deal  of 
pleasure.  I  denied  myself  as  much  as  possible  in 
order  to  swell  my  savings.  Even  so  much  as  I 
enjoyed  smoking,  I  limited  myself  to  an  occasional 
cigar,  and  that  was  generally  of  a  variety  which 
in  my  old  days  at  the  "Club"  was  known  as  a 
"Henry  Mud."  Drinking  I  cut  out  altogether, 
but  that  was  no  great  sacrifice. 

The  day  on  which  I  was  able  to  figure  up 
$1,000.00  marked  an  epoch  in  my  life.  And  this 
was  not  because  I  had  never  before  had  money. 
In  my  gambling  days  and  while  I  was  with  my 
"millionaire"  I  handled  sums  running  high  up  into 
the  hundreds ;  but  they  had  come  to  me  like  fairy 
god-mother's  gifts,  and  at  a  time  when  my  con 
ception  of  money  was  that  it  was  made  only  to 
spend.  Here,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  thousand 
dollars  which  I  had  earned  by  days  of  honest  and 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

patient  work,  a  thousand  dollars  which  I  had 
carefully  watched  grow  from  the  first  dollar;  and 
I  experienced,  in  owning  them,  a  pride  and  satis 
faction  which  to  me  was  an  entirely  new  sensa 
tion.  As  my  capital  went  over  the  thousand  dol 
lar  mark,  I  was  puzzled  to  know  what  to  do  with 
it,  how  to  put  it  to  the  most  advantageous  use. 
I  turned  down  first  one  scheme  and  then  another, 
as  though  they  had  been  devised  for  the  sole  pur 
pose  of  gobbling  up  my  money.  I  finally  listened 
to  a  friend  who  advised  me  to  put  all  I  had  in 
New  York  real  estate;  and  under  his  guidance  I 
took  equity  in  a  piece  of  property  on  which  stood 
a  rickety  old  tenement-house.  I  did  not  regret 
following  this  friend's  advice,  for  in  something 
like  six  months  I  disposed  of  my  equity  for  more 
than  double  my  investment.  From  that  time  on 
I  devoted  myself  to  the  study  of  New  York  real 
estate,  and  watched  for  opportunities  to  make  sim 
ilar  investments.  In  spite  of  two  or  three  specu 
lations  which  did  not  turn  out  well,  I  have  been 
remarkably  successful.  To-day  I  am  the  owner 
and  piart-owner  of  several  flat-houses.  J  have 
changed  my  place  of  employment  four  times  since 
returning  to  New  York,  and  each  change  has  been 
a  decided  advancement.  Concerning  the  position 
which  I  now  hold,  I  shall  say  nothing  except  that 
it  pays  extremely  well. 

As  my  outlook  on  the  world  grew  brighter,  I 
began  to  mingle  in  the  social  circles  of  the  men 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  193 

with  whom  I  came  in  contact;  and  gradually,  by 
a  process  of  elimination,  I  reached  a  grade  of  so 
ciety  of  no  small  degree  of  culture.  My  appear 
ance  was  always  good  and  my  ability  to  play  on 
the  piano,  especially  ragtime,  which  was  then  at 
the  height  of  its  vogue,  made  me  a  welcome  guest. 
The  anomaly  of  my  social  position  often  appealed 
strongly  to  my  sense  of  humor.  I  frequently 
smiled  inwardly  at  some  remark  not  altogether 
complimentary  to  people  of  color;  and  more  than 
once  I  felt  like  declaiming,  "I  am  a  colored  man. 
Do  I  not  disprove  the  theory  that  one  drop  of 
Negro  blood  renders  a  man  unfit  ?"  Many  a  night 
when  I  returned  to  my  room  after  an  enjoyable 
evening,  I  laughed  heartily  over  what  struck  me 
as  the  capital  joke  I  was  playing. 

Then  I  met  her,  and  what  I  had  regarded  as  a 
joke  was  gradually  changed  into  the  most  serious 
question  of  my  life.  I  first  saw  her  at  a  musical 
which  was  given  one  evening  at  a  house  to  which 
I  was  frequently  invited.  I  did  not  notice  her 
among  the  other  guests  before  she  came  forward 
and  sang  two  sad  little  songs.  When  she  began  I 
was  out  in  the  hallway  where  many  of  the  men 
were  gathered ;  but  with  the  first  few  notes  I 
crowded  with  others  into  the  doorway  to  see  who 
the  singer  was.  When  I  saw  the  girl,  the  sur 
prise  which  I  had  felt  at  the  first  sound  of  her 
voice  was  heightened;  she  was  almost  tall  and 
quite  slender,  with  lustrous  yellow  hair  and  eyes 


194         THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

so  blue  as  to  appear  almost  black.  She  was  as 
white  as  a  lily,  and  she  was  dressed  in  white.  In 
deed,  she  seemed  to  me  the  most  dazzlingly  white 
thing  I  had  ever  seen.  But  it  was  not  her  deli 
cate  beauty  which  attracted  me  most ;  it  was  her 
voice,  a  voice  which  made  one  wonder  how  tones 
of  such  passionate  color  could  come  from  so  frag 
ile  a  body. 

I  determined  that  when  the  programme  was  over 
I  would  seek  an  introduction  to  her;  but  at  the 
moment,  instead  of  being  the  easy  man  of  the 
world,  I  became  again  the  bashful  boy  of  four 
teen,  and  my  courage  failed  me.  I  contented  my 
self  with  hovering  as  near  her  as  politeness  would 
permit;  near  enough  to  hear  her  voice,  which  in 
conversation  was  low,  yet  thrilling,  like  the  deeper 
middle  tones  of  a  flute.  I  watched  the  men  gather 
around  her  talking  and  laughing  in  an  easy  man 
ner,  and  wondered  how  it  was  possible  for  them 
to  do  it.  But  destiny,  my  special  destiny,  was  at 
work.  I  was  standing  near,  talking  with  affected 
gayety  to  several  young  ladies,  who,  however,  must 
have  remarked  my  preoccupation ;  for  my  second 
sense  of  hearing  was  alert  to  what  was  being  said 
by  the  group  of  which  the  girl  in  white  was  the 
center,  when  I  heard  her  say,  "I  think  his  playing 
of  Chopin  is  exquisite."  And  one  of  my  friends 
in  the  group  replied,  "You  haven't  met  him?  Al 
low  me — "  then  turning  to  me,  "Old  man, 
when  you  have  a  moment  I  wish  you  to  meet 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  195 

Miss  ."  I  don't  know  what  she  said  to  me 

or  what  I  said  to  her.  I  can  remember  that  I 
tried  to  be  clever,  and  experienced  a  growing  con 
viction  that  I  was  making  myself  appear  more  and 
more  idiotic.  I  am  certain,  too,  that,  in  spite  of 
my  Italian-like  complexion,  I  was  as  red  as  a  beet. 

Instead  of  taking  the  car  I  walked  home.  I 
needed  the  air  and  exercise  as  a  sort  of  sedative. 
I  am  not  sure  whether  my  troubled  condition  of 
mind  was  due  to  the  fact  that  I  had  been  struck  by 
love  or  to  the  feeling  that  I  had  made  a  bad  im 
pression  upon  her. 

As  the  weeks  went  by,  and  when  I  had  met  her 
several  more  times,  I  came  to  know  that  I  was 
seriously  in  love;  and  then  began  for  me  days  of 
worry,  for  I  had  more  than  the  usual  doubts  and 
fears  of  a  young  man  in  love  to  contend  with. 

Up  to  this  time  I  had  assumed  and  played  my 
role  as  a  white  man  with  a  certain  degree  of  non 
chalance,  a  carelessness  as  to  the  outcome,  which 
made  the  whole  thing  more  amusing  to  me  than 
serious ;  but  now  I  ceased  to  regard  "being  a  white 
man"  as  a  sort  of  practical  joke.  My  acting  had 
called  for  mere  external  effects.  Now  I  began  to 
doubt  my  ability  to  play  the  part.  I  watched  her 
to  see  if  she  was  scrutinizing  me,  to  see  if  she  was 
looking  for  anything  in  me  which  made  me  differ 
from  the  other  men  she  knew.  In  place  of  an  old 
inward  feeling  of  superiority  over  many  of  my 
friends,  I  began  to  doubt  myself.  I  began  even 


196          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

to  wonder  if  I  really  was  like  the  men  I  associ 
ated  with ;  if  there  was  not,  after  all,  an  indefinable 
something  which  marked  a  difference. 

But,  in  spite  of  my  doubts  and  timidity,  my  af 
fair  progressed;  and  I  finally  felt  sufficiently  en 
couraged  to  decide  to  ask  her  to  marry  me.  Then 
began  the  hardest  struggle  of  my  life,  whether  to 
ask  her  to  marry  me  under  false  colors  or  to  tell 
her  the  whole  truth.  My  sense  of  what  was  exi 
gent  made  me  feel  there  was  no  necessity  of  say 
ing  anything;  but  my  inborn  sense  of  honor  re 
belled  at  even  indirect  deception  in  this  case.  But 
however  much  I  moralized  on  the  question,  I  found 
it  more  and  more  difficult  to  reach  the  point  of 
confession.  The  dread  that  I  might  lose  her  took 
possession  of  me  each  time  I  sought  to  speak,  and 
rendered  it  impossible  for  me  to  do  so.  That 
moral  courage  requires  more  than  physical  cour 
age  is  no  mere  poetic  fancy.  I  am  sure  I  would 
have  found  it  easier  to  take  the  place  of  a  gladi 
ator,  no 'matter  how  fierce  the  Numidian  lion,  than 
to  tell  that  slender  girl  that  I  had  Negro  blood 
in  my  veins.  The  fact  which  I  had  at  times 
wished  to  cry  out,  I  now  wished  to  hide  forever. 

During  this  time  we  were  drawn  together  a 
great  deal  by  the  mutual  bond  of  music.  She 
loved  to  hear  me  play  Chopin,  and  was  herself  far 
from  being  a  poor  performer  of  his  compositions. 
I  think  I  carried  her  every  new  song  that  was  pub 
lished  which  I  thought  suitable  to  her  voice,  and 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  197 

played  the  accompaniment  for  her.  Over  these 
songs  we  were  like  two  innocent  children  with  new 
toys.  She  had  never  been  anything  but  inno 
cent;  but  my  innocence  was  a  transformation 
wrought  by  my  love  for  her,  love  which  melted 
away  my  cynicism  and  whitened  my  sullied  soul 
and  gave  me  back  the  wholesome  dreams  of  my 
boyhood.  There  is  nothing  better  in  all  the  world 
that  a  man  can  do  for  his  moral  welfare  than  to 
love  a  good  woman. 

My  artistic  temperament  also  underwent  an 
awakening.  I  spent  many  hours  at  my  piano, 
playing  over  old  and  new  composers.  I  also 
wrote  several  little  pieces  in  a  more  or  less  Chopin- 
esque  style,  which  I  dedicated  to  her.  And  so  the 
weeks  and  months  went  by.  Often  words  of  love 
trembled  on  my  lips,  but  I  dared  not  utter  them, 
because  I  knew  they  would  have  to  be  followed 
by  other  words  which  I  had  not  the  courage  to 
frame.  There  might  have  been  some  other  woman 
in  my  set  with  whom  I  could  have  fallen  in  love 
and  asked  to  marry  me  without  a  word  of  ex 
planation  ;  but  the  more  I  knew  this  girl,  the  less 
could  I  find  it  in  my  heart  to  deceive  her.  And 
yet,  in  spite  of  this  specter  that  was  constantly 
looming  up  before  me,  I  could  never  have  believed 
that  life  held  such  happiness  as  was  contained  in 
those  dream  days  of  love. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  in  early  June,  I  was 
coming  up  Fifth  Avenue,  and  at  the  corner  of 


198          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

Twenty-third  Street  I  met  her.  She  had  been 
shopping.  We  stopped  to  chat  for  a  moment,  and 
I  suggested  that  we  spend  half  an  hour  at  the 
Eden  Musee.  We  were  standing  leaning  on  the 
rail  in  front  of  a  group  of  figures,  more  inter 
ested  in  what  we  had  to  say  to  each  other  than  in 
the  group,  when  my  attention  became  fixed  upon 
a  man  who  stood  at  my  side  studying  his  cata 
logue.  It  took  me  only  an  instant  to  recognize 
in  him  my  old  friend  "Shiny."  My  first  impulse 
was  to  change  my  position  at  once.  As  quick  as 
a  flash  I  considered  all  the  risks  I  might  run  in 
speaking  to  him,  and  most  especially  the  delicate 
question  of  introducing  him  to  her.  I  must  con 
fess  that  in  my  embarrassment  and  confusion  I 
felt  small  and  mean.  But  before  I  could  decide 
what  to  do  he  looked  around  at  me  and,  after  an 

instant,  said,  "Pardon  me;  but  isn't  this  ?" 

The  nobler  part  in  me  responded  to  the  sound  of 
his  voice,  and  I  took  his  hand  in  a  hearty  clasp. 
Whatever  fears  I  had  felt  were  quickly  banished, 
for  he  seemed,  at  a  glance,  to  divine  my  situa 
tion,  and  let  drop  no  word  that  would  have 
aroused  suspicion  as  to  the  truth.  With  a  slight 
misgiving  I  presented  him  to  her,  and  was  again 
relieved  of  fear.  She  received  the  introduction  in 
her  usual  gracious  manner,  and  without  the  least 
hesitancy  or  embarrassment  joined  in  the  conver 
sation.  An  amusing  part  about  the  introduction 
was  that  I  was  upon  the  point  of  introducing  him 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  199 

as  "Shiny,"  and  stammered  a  second  or  two  before 
I  could  recall  his  name.  We  chatted  for  some  fif 
teen  minutes.  He  was  spending  his  vacation 
North,  with  the  intention  of  doing  four  or  six 
weeks'  work  in  one  of  the  summer  schools ;  he  was 
also  going  to  take  a  bride  back  with  him  in  the 
fall.  He  asked  me  about  myself,  but  in  so  diplo 
matic  a  way  that  I  found  no  difficulty  in  answer 
ing  him.  The  polish  of  his  language  and  the  un- 
pedantic  manner  in  which  he  revealed  his  culture 
greatly  impressed  her;  and  after  we  had  left  the 
Musee  she  showed  it  by  questioning  me  about  him. 
I  was  surprised  at  the  amount  of  interest  a  re 
fined  black  man  could  arouse.  Even  after  changes 
in  the  conversation  she  reverted  several  times  to 
the  subject  of  "Shiny."  Whether  it  was  more 
than  mere  curiosity  I  could  not  tell ;  but  I  was  con 
vinced  that  she  herself  knew  very  little  about 
prejudice. 

Just  why  it  should  have  done  so  I  do  not  know ; 
but  somehow  the  "Shiny"  incident  gave  me  en 
couragement  and  confidence  to  cast  the  die  of  my 
fate ;  but  I  reasoned  that  since  I  wanted  to  marry 
her  only,  and  since  it  concerned  her  alone,  I  would 
divulge  my  secret  to  no  one  else,  not  even  her  par 
ents. 

One  evening,  a  few  days  afterwards,  at  her 
home,  we  were  going  over  some  new  songs  and 
compositions,  when  she  asked  me,  as  she  often  did, 
to  play  the  "13th  Nocturne."  When  I  began 


200          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

she  drew  a  chair  near  to  my  right,  and  sat  lean 
ing  with  her  elbow  on  the  end  of  the  piano,  her 
chin  resting  on  her  hand,  and  her  eyes  reflecting 
the  emotions  which  the  music  awoke  in  her.  An 
impulse  which  I  could  not  control  rushed  over  me, 
a  wave  of  exaltation,  the  music  under  my  fingers 
sank  almost  to  a  whisper,  and  calling  her  for  the 
first  time  by  her  Christian  name,  but  without  dar 
ing  to  look  at  her,  I  said,  "I  love  you,  I  love  you, 
I  love  you."  My  fingers  were  trembling,  so  that 
I  ceased  playing.  I  felt  her  hand  creep  to  mine, 
and  when  I  looked  at  her  her  eyes  were  glistening 
with  tears.  I  understood,  and  could  scarcely  re 
sist  the  longing  to  take  her  in  my  arms ;  but  I 
remembered,  remembered  that  which  has  been  the 
sacrificial  altar  of  so  much  happiness — Duty ;  and 
bending  over  her  hand  in  mine,  I  said,  "Yes,  I 
love  you ;  but  there  is  something  more,  too,  that  I 
must  tell  you."  Then  I  told  her,  in  what  words  I 
do  not  know,  the  truth.  I  felt  her  hand  grow 
cold,  and  when  I  looked  up  she  was  gazing  at  me 
with  a  wild,  fixed  stare  as  though  I  was  some  ob 
ject  she  had  never  seen.  Under  the  strange  light 
in  her  eyes  I  felt  that  I  was  growing  black  and 
thick-featured  and  crimp-haired.  She  appeared 
not  to  have  comprehended  what  I  had  said.  Her 
lips  trembled  and  she  attempted  to  say  something 
to  me;  but  the  words  stuck  in  her  throat.  Then 
dropping  her  head  on  the  piano  she  began  to  weep 
with  great  sobs  that  shook  her  frail  body.  I  tried 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  201 

to  console  her,  and  blurted  out  incoherent  words 
of  love;  but  this  seemed  only  to  increase  her  dis 
tress,  and  when  I  left  her  she  was  still  weeping. 

When  I  got  into  the  street  I  felt  very  much  as 
I  did  the  night  after  meeting  my  father  and  sister 
at  the  opera  in  Paris,  even  a  similar  desperate  in 
clination  to  get  drunk;  but  my  self-control  was 
stronger.  This  was  the  only  time  in  my  life  that 
I  ever  felt  absolute  regret  at  being  colored,  that  I 
cursed  the  drops  of  African  blood  in  my  veins,  and 
wished  that  I  were  really  white.  When  I  reached 
my  rooms  I  sat  and  smoked  several  cigars  while  I 
tried  to  think  out  the  significance  of  what  had  oc 
curred.  I  reviewed  the  whole  history  of  our  ac 
quaintance,  recalled  each  smile  she  had  given  me, 
each  word  she  had  said  to  me  that  nourished  my 
hope.  I  went  over  the  scene  we  had  just  gone 
through,  trying  to  draw  from  it  what  was  in  my 
favor  and  what  was  against  me.  I  was  rewarded 
by  feeling  confident  that  she  loved  me,  but  I  could 
not  estimate  what  was  the  effect  upon  her  of  my 
confession.  At  last,  nervous  and  unhappy,  I 
wrote  her  a  letter,  which  I  dropped  into  the  mail 
box  before  going  to  bed,  in  which  I  said: 

"I  understand,  understand  even  better  than  you, 
and  so  I  suffer  even  more  than  you.  But  why 
should  either  of  us  suffer  for  what  neither  of  us  is 
to  blame?  If  there  is  any  blame,  it  belongs  to  me, 
and  I  can  only  make  the  old,  yet  strongest  plea  that 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

can  be  offered,  I  love  you;  and  I  know  that  my  love, 
my  great  love,  infinitely  overbalances  that  blame, 
and  blots  it  out.  What  is  it  that  stands  in  the  way 
of  our  happiness?  It  is  not  what  you  feel  or  what 
I  feel;  it  is  not  what  you  are  or  what  I  am.  It  is 
what  others  feel  and  are.  But,  oh!  is  that  a  fair 
price?  In  all  the  endeavors  and  struggles  of  life, 
in  all  our  strivings  and  longings  there  is  only  one 
thing  worth  seeking,  only  one  thing  worth  winning, 
and  that  is  love.  It  is  not  always  found;  but  when 
it  is,  there  is  nothing  in  all  the  world  for  which  it 
can  be  profitably  exchanged." 

The  second  morning  after,  I  received  a  note 
from  her  which  stated  briefly  that  she  was  going 
up  in  New  Hampshire  to  spend  the  summer  with 
relatives  there.  She  made  no  reference  to  what 
had  passed  between  us ;  nor  did  she  say  exactly 
when  she  would  leave  the  city.  The  note  con 
tained  no  single  word  that  gave  me  any  clue  to 
her  feelings.  I  could  only  gather  hope  from  the 
fact  that  she  had  written  at  all.  On  the  same 
evening,  with  a  degree  of  trepidation  which  ren 
dered  me  almost  frightened,  I  went  to  her  house. 

I  met  her  mother,  who  told  me  that  she  had  left 
for  the  country  that  very  afternoon.  Her  mother 
treated  me  in  her  usual  pleasant  manner,  which 
fact  greatly  reassured  me;  and  I  left  the  house 
with  a  vague  sense  of  hope  stirring  in  my  breast, 
which  sprang  from  the  conviction  that  she  had 
not  yet  divulged  my  secret.  But  that  hope  did 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  203 

not  remain  with  me  long.  I  waited  one,  two, 
three  weeks,  nervously  examining  my  mail  every 
day,  looking  for  some  word  from  her.  All  of  the 
letters  received  by  me  seemed  so  insignificant,  so 
worthless,  because  there  was  none  from  her.  The 
slight  buoyancy  of  spirit  which  I  had  felt  grad 
ually  dissolved  into  gloomy  heartsickness.  I  be 
came  preoccupied,  I  lost  appetite,  lost  sleep,  and 
lost  ambition.  Several  of  my  friends  intimated 
to  me  that  perhaps  I  was  working  too  hard. 

She  stayed  away  the  whole  summer.  I  did  not 
go  to  the  house,  but  saw  her  father  at  various 
times,  and  he  was  as  friendly  as  ever.  Even  after 
I  knew  that  she  was  back  in  town  I  did  not  go  to 
see  her.  I  determined  to  wait  for  some  word  or 
sign.  I  had  finally  taken  refuge  and  comfort  in 
my  pride,  pride  which,  I  suppose,  I  came  by  nat 
urally  enough. 

The  first  time  I  saw  her  after  her  return  was 
one  night  at  the  theater.  She  and  her  mother  sat 
in  company  with  a  young  man  whom  I  knew 
slightly,  not  many  seats  away  from  me.  Never 
did  she  appear  more  beautiful;  and  yet,  it  may 
have  been  my  fancy,  she  seemed  a  trifle  paler  and 
there  was  a  suggestion  of  haggardness  in  her 
countenance.  But  that  only  heightened  her 
beauty;  the  very  delicacy  of  her  charm  melted 
down  the  strength  of  my  pride.  My  situation 
made  me  feel  weak  and  powerless,  like  a  man  try 
ing  with  his  bare  hands  to  break  the  iron  bars  of 


THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

his  prison  cell.  When  the  performance  was  over 
I  hurried  out  and  placed  myself  where,  unobserved, 
I  could  see  her  as  she  passed  out.  The  haughti 
ness  of  spirit  in  which  I  had  sought  relief  was  all 
gone,  and  I  was  willing  and  ready  to  undergo  any 
humiliation. 

Shortly  afterward  we  met  at  a  progressive  card 
party,  and  during  the  evening  we  were  thrown 
together  at  one  of  the  tables  as  partners.  This 
was  really  our  first  meeting  since  the  eventful 
night  at  her  house.  Strangely  enough,  in  spite 
of  our  mutual  nervousness,  we  won  every  trick  of 
the  game,  and  one  of  our  opponents  jokingly 
quoted  the  old  saw,  "Lucky  at  cards,  unlucky  in 
love."  Our  eyes  met,  and  I  am  sure  that  in  the 
momentary  glance  my  whole  soul  went  out  to  her 
in  one  great  plea.  She  lowered  her  eyes  and  ut 
tered  a  nervous  little  laugh.  During  the  rest  of 
the  game  I  fully  merited  the  unexpressed  and  ex 
pressed  abuse  of  my  various  partners ;  for  my  eyes 
followed  her  wherever  she  was,  and  I  played  what 
ever  card  my  fingers  happened  to  touch. 

Later  in  the  evening  she  went  to  the  piano  and 
began  to  play  very  softly,  as  to  herself,  the  open 
ing  bars  of  the  13th  Nocturne.  I  felt  that  the 
psychic  moment  of  my  life  had  come,  a  moment 
which  if  lost  could  never  be  called  back;  and,  in 
as  careless  a  manner  as  I  could  assume,  I  saun 
tered  over  to  the  piano  and  stood  almost  bending 
over  her.  She  continued  playing;  but,  in  a  voice 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  205 

that  was  almost  a  whisper,  she  called  me  by  my 
Christian  name  and  said,  "I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I 
love  you."  I  took  her  place  at  the  piano  and 
played  the  Nocturne  in  a  manner  that  silenced  the 
chatter  of  the  company  both  in  and  out  of  the 
room;  involuntarily  closing1  it  with  the  major 
triad. 

We  were  married  the  following  spring1,  and  went 
to  Europe  for  several  months.  It  was  a  double 
joy  for  me  to  be  in  France  again  under  such  con 
ditions. 

First  there  came  to  us  a  little  girl,  with  hair 
and  eyes  dark  like  mine,  but  who  is  growing  to 
have  ways  like  her  mother.  Two  years  later  there 
came  a  boy,  who  has  my  temperament,  but  is  fair 
like  his  mother,  a  little  golden-headed  god,  a  face 
and  head  that  would  have  delighted  the  heart  of 
an  old  Italian  master.  And  this  boy,  with  his 
mother's  eyes  and  features,  occupies  an  inner  sanc 
tuary  of  my  heart ;  for  it  was  for  him  that  she 
gave  all;  and  that  is  the  second  sacred  sorrow  of 
my  life. 

The  few  years  of  our  married  life  were  su 
premely  happy,  and,  perhaps  she  was  even  happier 
than  I ;  for  after  our  marriage,  in  spite  of  all  the 
wealth  of  her  love  which  she  lavished  upon  me, 
there  came  a  new  dread  to  haunt  me,  a  dread 
which  I  cannot  explain  and  which  was  unfounded, 
but  one  that  never  left  me.  I  was  in  constant  fear 
that  she  would  discover  in  me  some  shortcoming 


206          THE  AUTOBIOGRAPHY  OF 

which  she  would  unconsciously  attribute  to  my 
blood  rather  than  to  a  failing  of  human  nature. 
But  no  cloud  ever  came  to  mar  our  life  together; 
her  loss  to  me  is  irreparable.  My  children  need 
a  mother's  care,  but  I  shall  never  marry  again. 
It  is  to  my  children  that  I  have  devoted  my  life. 
I  no  longer  have  the  same  fear  for  myself  of  my 
secret  being  found  out ;  for  since  my  wife's  death 
I  have  gradually  dropped  out  of  social  life;  but 
there  is  nothing  I  would  not  suffer  to  keep  the 
"brand"  from  being  placed  upon  them. 

It  is  difficult  for  me  to  analyze  my  feelings  con 
cerning  my  present  position  in  the  world.  Some 
times  it  seems  to  me  that  I  have  never  really  been 
a  Negro,  that  I  have  been  only  a  privileged  spec 
tator  of  their  inner  life ;  at  other  times  I  feel  that 
I  have  been  a  coward,  a  deserter,  and  I  am  pos 
sessed  by  a  strange  longing  for  my  mother's  peo- 
pie. 

Several  years  ago  I  attended  a  great  meeting 
in  the  interest  of  Hampton  Institute  at  Carnegie 
Hall.  The  Hampton  students  sang  the  old  songs 
and  awoke  memories  that  left  me  sad.  Among  the 
speakers  were  R.  C.  Ogden,  Ex-Ambassador 
Choate,  and  Mark  Twain;  but  the  greatest  inter 
est  of  the  audience  was  centered  in  Booker  T. 
Washington;  and  not  because  he  so  much  sur 
passed  the  others  in  eloquence,  but  because  of 
what  he  represented  with  so  much  earnestness  and 
faith.  And  it  is  this  that  all  of  that  small  but 


AN  EX-COLORED  MAN  207 

gallant  band  of  colored  men  who  are  publicly 
fighting  the  cause  of  their  race  have  behind  them. 
Even  those  who  oppose  them  know  that  these  men 
have  the  eternal  principles  of  right  on  their  side, 
and  they  will  be  victors  even  though  they  should 
go  down  in  defeat.  Beside  them  I  feel  small  and 
selfish.  I  am  an  ordinarily  successful  white  man 
who  has  made  a  little  money.  They  are  men  who 
are  making  history  and  a  race.  I,  too,  might 
have  taken  part  in  a  work  so  glorious. 

My  love  for  my  children  makes  me  glad  that  I 
am  what  I  am,  and  keeps  me  from  desiring  to  be 
otherwise;  and  yet,  when  I  sometimes  open  a  lit 
tle  box  in  which  I  still  keep  my  fast  yellowing 
manuscripts,  the  only  tangible  remnants  of  a  van 
ished  dream,  a  dead  ambition,  a  sacrificed  talent,  / 
I  cannot  repress  the  thought,  that,  after  all,  I 
have  chosen  the  lesser  part,  that  I  have  sold  my 
birthright  for  a  mess  of  pottage. 


